


The Idea Pad

by Grumpy_Eduardo, Nihiley_Face



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alcoholism, All relationships are questionable, And some monster Tom too, And there may be more to come, Angst, Coming Soon to Theaters Near You, Coping, Depression, Don't worry, Eddsworld Powers AU, Failing to Cope, God i love gore, Gore warning, M/M, Music, Musical References, Other, Some Future AU Coming Soon, Tom and Laurel are BFFs, Tom and Laurel are musicians, Tom has a motorcycle and no one can convince me otherwise, and stuff, i dont know, just sad, moving in, these are ideas that a friend and i came up with, tom gets turned into a child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-01-28 20:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 23,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12614320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grumpy_Eduardo/pseuds/Grumpy_Eduardo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nihiley_Face/pseuds/Nihiley_Face
Summary: A collection of one shots and ideas that I might actually use at a later date. Who knows?Enjoy my artistic rambling, I guess.[Find me on Tumblr @ nihilized where you can, I dont know follow me and get regular updates on my unsolved daddy issues or some shit I dont know man.]





	1. Him.

**Author's Note:**

> [As of December 1rd, my close friend, @Grumpy_Eduardo, has become a co-author on this story. She has yet to post on The Archive, but she's an awesome writer, so I ask that you give her some love and support because she deserves it! 
> 
> Follow her on Tumblr @ grumpyeduardo.tumblr.com

They all watched their friend deteriorate. 

They watched it happen and acted like it didn't. Around him, at least. When he wasn't around, or when they thought he wasn't, they talked about him. They talked about what they should do, why he's acting like this, should he see a doctor? Maybe he needs medical attention? What should they do?

They didn't know.

His mental health was going downhill faster and faster with each passing day. He ate so much less, and got so much skinnier. He talked less, laughed and smiled less. He stayed in his room, his bed, more. Showed his face less. Every time they saw him, his face was gaunt and when he moved, it seemed like it required too much effort, like it was too much for him.

He was going to kill himself. 

Everyone could see it. 

When he spoke, his mouth moved strangely, like it was silicone and not skin, but his lips were chapped, and seemed as if they would break apart if he stretched them too far. 

His hands looked small and frail. They shook, sometimes. He didn't know why. His skin was this odd combination of too dry and oily, and it caused him to rub his hands together a lot. He'd fidget with his fingers and pick at his cuticles until they bled and stung. His fingernails grew out too long, and he sometimes accidentally scratched someone too harshly. 

His hair was messy and oily. It was getting longer. He never brushed it or styled it, so it always just stuck up in random directions all the time. His hair stood up by itself, now, randomly standing upright if he'd slept in the right position. Some people found it charming, but he hated it.

No names were mentioned, but you, dear reader, know who this is about.


	2. He Should Have Been American

Tord walked in the house, Edd in tow. He was a bit nervous, for a rather large and intimidating guy. Edd cheerfully slapped his back. "Ah, don't worry, Tord, you'll do just fine here!" He beamed. "I sure hope you're prepared to buy us all groceries, though, because I never leave the house." Edd teased. Tord laughed a little, trying to shake away his anxiety. Edd moved past him and stepped into the living room. 

"Living room," Edd stated simply. He pointed to a lean, long-legged and surprisingly attractive redhead. "Matt." The ginger, now Matt, looked up from his phone and stood from the couch. He walked to Tord and held out his hand. "Hi, I'm Matt!" He greeted kindly. Tord took his hand and shook it. "I'm Tord." He said. Matt caught onto his nervousness and chuckled. "Oh, no need to be so shaky, friend!" He said. "The only one you need to be worried about is Tom, and you'll probably notice that he's gone a lot." Matt shrugged. Tord tilted his head and cast a glance to Edd.

"Oh, right, Tom," Edd stuttered out. "He's a musician. He's usually out with his friend, Laurel, in the studio if he's not here." Edd smiled. "He's really good, actually. His work is awesome!" Edd pulled out his phone from his pocket. He tapped on it a few times, and then some music started playing on it. "Here's some of his stuff. This one is my personal favourite." He handed the phone to Tord, who listened intently. The music was calm and rather lovely. It had a strong beat with a woman's voice, remixed in a charming manner. Tord noticed sounds like laughing crowds, footsteps, doors closing and birds chirping incorporated in, too. He could find himself listening to this song again. He handed the phone back.

"That's really good." Tord said. "What's that song called?" Edd said, "I don't know why, but it's called 'Baby and the Marvelous Machine', by Gideon's Rose." Tord tilted his head to the side. "Yeah," Edd replied to Tord's unvoiced confusion. "I don't get it, either. It's quite a lovely song, though." Tord agreed. 

Suddenly, the loud sound of a motorcycle cut off the conversation. Edd grinned widely. "That's him!" Edd said. He nodded his head outside where the moving trucks were. Carefully dodging the boxes in his path, Edd made it to the door and outside, where he heard a song he couldn't name. It was definitely some sort of rock song, though. He followed Edd.

Outside, by the moving truck, was a guy, just a few inches off of average height sat on a motorcycle. He was clad in a leather jacket with a blue hoodie underneath, and some grey jeans. He had a black helmet obscuring his face. Edd ran up to him and highfived him. The leather-clad man removed his helmet to reveal, unsurprisingly, a bad case of helmet hair. Though, he fixed it with a comb rather quickly. The song switched to a different one on his motorcycle radio, and Tord thought that it was a suiting song for the first impression of a guy like this. The song, Tord would later learn, was called Back In Black, by ACDC. The guy turned and looked at Tord. Edd spoke to him a few more seconds, the guy nodded and turned off his bike and the song with it, got off and walked up to Tord. 

"Yo, I'm Tom." He stated in a shockingly British accent. Tord had honest to God expected him to be American in getup like that. Also, his eyes were black, which was a little bit scary, and he wasn't sure how to feel about that. Tom caught onto his fear. "Ah, don't worry, I don't bite." He gave a mischievous grin and held out his hand. "Hard." He tacked on. Edd scolded Tom playfully. "Don't scare him, Tom! He's a newbie!" Edd laughed and Tom joined in with a small chuckle. Tord introduced himself, nervously. "I'm Tord." Tom seemed a bit taken aback by his accent. "Cool accent." He said. "Where're you from?" He put his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. "Norway." Tord said. Tom nodded. "Cool." Edd joined in. "I saw some pictures he showed me, and Norway is awesome!" Tord rubbed the back of his neck shyly. "How awesome?" Tom asked. "On a scale from one to me, how awesome is it?" He asked, turning more towards Edd. "Uh, definitely an eleven." Tom raised his brows cooly. "Sounds pretty fuckin' awesome, then." He said. 

"Oh, uh," Tom rambled. "Rules for the kitchen: There's left over spaghetti in the fridge, it's mine. Eat it, and I'll rip your ears off." Tom shrugged. "That's all." He walked inside, greeting Matt. Tord was a bit intimidated by him, despite being several inches taller, and having far more muscle mass than him. Edd laughed. "Don't mind Tom, dude," he said in a chipper tone. "But seriously, touch his food, and you will not live to see another day." Edd shuddered. That just made his fear of Tom a little worse. Tom just seemed so cool and laid back, and Tord was this big, awkward, foreign guy that nobody knew. He gulped. 

Tord got the feeling this was going to be a long week.


	3. A Person, A Place and a Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A person, a place and a problem prompt that I might finish later.

A person, a place and a problem.

Person: Edd Gold

Place: Durdan Lane

Problem: Tom killed himself, and Edd doesn't know why.

 

Person: Matt Harvest

Place: Durdan Lane

Problem: Tom killed himself, and Matt feels it's because he didn't love himself enough.

 

Person: Tord Larss

Place: Durdan Lane

Problem: Tom killed himself, and Tord was in love with him.

 

Person: Tom Rosewood

Place: Durdan Lane; Deadmann's Cliff

Problem: He can't do this anymore.


	4. Baby and the Marvelous Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WIP

He had always wanted to fly one. 

The sky ships. 

He talked about them every day, dancing about the sitting room with his cape and his pirate hat on, pretending to be the captain of one of his marvelous sky ships. 

His was named the S.S. Marvelous. He used that word all the time. He'd say something was 'absolutely marvelous' if he liked it. If he didn't, he wouldn't say much about it. 

Tom would laugh and giggle, he'd draw one of if ships and give it to Edd, who would take it and smile widely. Though he smiled, he would secretly worry, and he'd wonder how such an imaginative and bright eyed child could become an adult whom was so sad all the time. 

Tom would dance around the living room to Queen and ACDC and Judas Priest, all these classic favourites, and he'd fall asleep to Byrd and Vivaldi and Mozart. No one really got him, but he was just so... Tom, that it hurt. Of course, he was Tom, so it only made sense. 

No one's ever seen him so happy before. 

It was all because of Tord and his stupid machine, which had been broken after it was used. But now, they understood him more. In a way, it was sort of... Bittersweet. 

It wasn't terrible.


	5. Mister Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddsworld Powers AU a friend and I came up with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would y'all be interested if I made a tumblr? Just curious.

**Person: Tom Rosewood**

**Place: Durdan Lane**

**Problem: His messy house.**

Tom's house was a disaster. There was no denying it. He groaned. He didn't want to do this, even if it required minimal effort. He groaned dramatically once more before Tord stepped in. "Tom, come on!" He said. "It's not that hard for you, you have the most powers, so it'd be the easiest for you to do it." Tom banged his head on the wall. "I know, it just requires effort..." He groaned for the last time and spoke a few words under his breath. 

Suddenly, the dirty laundry that lay on the floor and the couch lifted up and flew to the laundry room next to the kitchen. Edd's messy sketchbooks everywhere were stacked in a nice pile on the coffee table. Tord's hentai mags went in the trash, and Tord whined at that. Tom rolled his eyes. He picked up the broom with his powers and suddenly, it was stuck in a waltz around the house, kind of like a magic rumba. 

He picked up the books and put them on the shelves, he tossed away the empty candy wrappers and the gross take-out containers, then he snagged a package of crackers and opened it up, eating half of a cracker lazily. "There." He stated. He sighed. "It's much better, though..." He sat on the newly cleaned couch.

They heard Edd's car pull into the driveway. Edd walked in. "I see you two cleaned up the place while I was gone!" He said, raising his brows. "I'm surprised, actually." He chuckled. "But," he continued. "I guess your punishment is over. You two are off the hook." Tord cheered and Tom flipped onto the couch on his side, sighing and closing his eyes. 


	6. He Should Have Been American (Continuation)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two I've been thinking about.

Tord had been living there for about a week.

One thing that Tord noticed was Tom liked music. A lot. He almost always had headphones on, dancing and even singing a little bit. He also noticed how much Matt loved himself. He always had a mirror in his hand, and he admired himself a lot. This being the first time he's met the two, he found this a bit odd. He's known Edd for a long while, them being able to chat online from across the world through Tumblr, and other sites. 

Edd told him about his roommates, but nothing could have prepared Tord for the antics of them all. So, he came to a simple conclusion.

British people are fucking weird. 

H e noticed that Tom really was gay when he found him in the garage one afternoon. He was doing things to his motorcycle, taking care of it, cleaning it, giving whatever needed repairs the proper treatment, all that junk. Tord had been asked by Edd to give Tom something cold to drink, specifically water, since Tom was a notorious alcoholic who needed something in his body other than Smirnoff and toast. 

Tom was blaring Green Day on the speakers in the garage, not that Edd minded too much, he and Tom had actually met at a Green Day concert many years before. Despite the typically masculine activity of taking care of a motorcycle, Tom was swinging his hips to Holiday by the aforementioned band, in a really feminine way. In that moment, Tord knew. There was absolutely no way that Tom could ever be straight in any sense of the word. Even his posture wasn't straight! He was always hunching over and slouching. Tord came to the conclusion that Tom was at the very least, bisexual, like him.

Edd told Tord a while back that his gay-dar is in dire need of repairs. Tord thought he was fine, being bisexual, he felt that he could tell, but apparently not, because when Tom invited Laurel over, he'd asked the two if they were together... Tom covered his bright red face in embarrassment while Laurel laughed. She then explained that she was gay, and Tom was, too. They could never actually date each other. Tord realized then why Edd had said that. 

Edd had never really let him live that one down, and he still cringes when he thinks about it. 

Yeah, Tord thinks. He really should have been American.


	7. Some Future Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's depressed.

Tom hid in the closet. 

It was the only place he could think of to keep himself safe and away from him. 

He piled a bunch of clothing and whatever was in there on top of him to maybe obscure his body, but nothing could muffle the cries and whimpers he gave out. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for this all to be over. 

He just wanted it to be over. 

Tord pounded on the closet door, yelling for him. He growled and snarled like a rabid animal on the other side, a lion. Tom cried and flinched with each sound; he was the gazelle. He was in danger, here, but he couldn't get out. He could never escape.

Tord yelled on the other side, trying to open the locked door, his words unintelligible, but they were loud and angry. They gave Tom flashbacks to his horrible upbringing, and that only made it worse. He didn't want to come out. He wouldn't come out. He'd rather die in this tiny closet, crying and whimpering, than go out and face him. He was a big, terrifying man, while Tom was small and thin. A lean creature with hardly any meat on his bones. Tom cried. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr @ theprinceofmilk.tumblr.com 
> 
> I take requests, I post shit there, don't be afraid to send in an ask, or whatever. I don't know how to do this.


	8. Some Future Things (Continued)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future Things 2: The Futuring

Tord tried the best he could to make Tom understand that he wasn't angry. 

Tord was just scared.

Tord watched as Tom began to panic, and he wanted to know what was wrong, but when Tord ran after him, Tom ran even faster, panicked more. 

He locked himself in can closet. 

Tord didn't understand. He knocked, albeit a bit harshly at first, to try and catch his attention, to talk him down. 

Tord just wanted to understand. 

Tom was crying and scared and terrified of everything and was refusing help and Tord didn't understand. He barely understood what exactly had brought this on in the first place. 

Tord had just given Tom his next mission. Tom accepted it emptily, lacking any emotion as was the usual as of late. Tord often worried about that and had tried his absolute best to be nicer, but Tom's mental state only got worse. Tord just wanted the best for Tom.

Tom had turned away from Tord prematurely, an accident, surely. To grab his attention back, Tord said his name and grabbed his arm. Tom immediately began to panic. His eyes went wide and he shook for a few seconds. Tord knew that look. It was the look of PTSD flashbacks. Tom shook so violently that he practically vibrated. It scared Tord to see a look like that on Tom, especially after so many months of emptiness on his end. 

Tom ran off and locked himself in a closet to ride out his attack with no comfort or anything from anyone. 

It broke Tord's dead little heart when he realized that there was no helping him. He stopped knocking and just sat outside the door for a long time. He felt awful. What if this was his fault? 

When Tom first arrived, yeah. Tord wasn't exactly on his best behaviour. He had to admit, he did some awful things to Tom, just to prove his dominance over him. He would beat Tom, 'punish' him for just being himself. It's what started this whole, lack of emotion thing in the first place. 

Tom very quickly delved into a deep, dark pit of depression and despair that Tord feared he would never come out of. Of course, Tord loved Tom, and wanted him to be happy, but it took Tom almost killing himself and Patrick yelling at him at the top of his lungs for Tord to realize the error of his ways. Tord should have noticed something suspicious when Tom decided to stay, even after all of these events.

He did get a little better, though. He tried his best to smile and laugh when Tord tried to make him do so. He'd tell jokes and give Tom space when he needed it. He'd give Tom his favourite foods and such, just trying to get him back to his silly, snarky self. 

It never worked. 

Not really.

So, Tord thought, outside of that closet door. This all really was his fault, then, huh?


	9. Request: PaulTom for Anon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Tom are the saltiest couple of gays you'll ever meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PaulTom for Anon.

Tom let out a sigh through his nose and lay down on Paul's lap. His eyes fluttered shut as Paul mindlessly flipped through channels on the telly. Tom popped a few chips in his mouth, a flavour much like himself: Salt and vinegar. Paul reached for some, and Tom let him grab a few. 

"You wanna do something?" Tom asked. Paul shrugged. "Like what?" Tom thought. He hummed. "I don't know," he said. "Not sit here, bored out of our fuckin' minds, I guess." Paul shrugged. "Well," Paul said. "If you can't think of anything, then I don't see why we should." Paul added, "Besides. Going out means people, and people suck ass." Tom popped another chip in his mouth. "Yeah," he agreed. "I guess you're right." Paul scolded Tom. "Don't talk with your mouth full, you'll choke." Tom rolled his eyes and popped some more chips in his mouth. 

"Yeah, fuck you, I do what I want, fucker-" Tom was cut off by his own throat, choking on some fucking chips. He sat up immediately and Paul reacted right after, patting his back. "Jesus Christ, don't die on me, Tom!" Paul joked around. When Tom finally stopped coughing, he said, "Don't tell me what to do," He huffed. "I'll die whenever I want to, bitch." He lay back down on Paul's lap, and Paul gave a hearty laugh, stroking Tom's hair. "Yeah, that I do believe." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the short length, but I hope this quenches your thirst, anon. If not, this was the gateway to many ideas, so let me know in the comments below, or on my Tumblr @ theprinceofmilk.tumblr.com if you want more PaulTom, or pretty much any other ship in EddsWorld.   
> ✌ Peace Out ✌


	10. Baby and the Lonely House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's still there.

The house was so lonely.

It was old, too. Old and lonely. It made him so sad. It was devoid of anything, now. Nothing remained except for him. 

He couldn't leave.

He wasn't allowed to.

He ran through the halls and screamed, gritting his teeth and pulling his hair. He wrote on the mirrors with old fashioned lipstick and cried out, trying to let anyone know that he was still here. 

He was top young. He didn't deserve this.

His mind made the lights flicker and his heart made things fly. However, he could never leave the house to look at the sky. It hurt him. He just wanted to see the stars again. He wanted to see his family again. He wanted to feel wanted again. He wanted to want.

He yearned for feelings like warmth. It was so cold, all the time. No one lived in the house except for him, and he wasn't even alive anymore. 

That made him so sad.

He wanted to cry. 

So, he did. 

He let his translucent body fall to it's knees and he let out misty tears of a ghostly sadness that would tear into the hearts of the yellow walls surrounding him. The brown carpet refused his efforts to cause a physical change to it. He couldn't make it wet with his misty tears. He couldn't even touch it. 

That made him sadder. 

He curled up in a ball in what once was the sitting room long ago, and he cried like the baby he was, terrified by all of his loneliness. He choked and sobbed but nobody came. No one came for him. No one would ever come for him. That's what happened before, right? He'd taught himself to never expect anything from anyone and somehow, he was still let down. 

Families tried to move in every once in a while, but when they realized that he was here, they would run away. He wasn't trying to scare them, he just wanted a friend. Thoughts like that flooded his empty head and he cried some more. Nobody would hear him and nobody would care. 

He was a ghost. 


	11. The Saddest Lullaby (WIP) (Slight Motivation Loss)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamara Rosewood, former Jehovah's Witness and ultra-mega-gay chick moves back into her old, childhood home, were tragedy befell her family many years before.
> 
> ((WIP))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ones long so strap in and buckle up, it's gonna be a bumpy ride.
> 
> I might turn this into one long oneshot/story later, I don't know.

* * *

The gravel snuck beneath her feet and made a satisfying crunching sound as she walked. She enjoyed it. 

The weather outside was cool, cool enough to wear a jacket, but not so cold that you needed much else. It felt nice. She always liked cold weather. But she didn't smile. 

Tamara walked up to her childhood home. It had burned down many years before, but they rebuilt it. No one would ever know the memories held inside. She gulped and teared up. She was afraid to go inside the house. She didn't want to go. 

She continued walking to the white door. She didn't knock. She grabbed the key from under the mat and walked inside. It was empty. Right upon walking in, there was a staircase to your right. Tamara walked up the stairs, following a narrow hallway. These walls used to be covered in photos. Screams echoed in her head. She continued walking until she reached the end of the hall. Before her stood a dark, mahogany door. Her hand trembled above the doorknob, but she finally pushed it down and opened the door. 

The walls were a dark blue. He loved it. Tamara teared up even further, tears escaping her eyes as she walked towards the center of the room. She fell to her knees and cried a little bit, her hands in her face.

She could feel this strange energy within the house, but it was in no way shape or form bad. It was so comforting, Tamara almost felt as if someone was there, patting her back and whispering soothing things in her ear. It was so nice. 

She wiped her eyes and stood up, heading towards the bathroom down the hall and to the left. She washed her face, scrubbing away the tear stains and the pain. She felt better. On the corner of the mirror, she spotted something... Red? She rubbed it off on her thumb. Definitely not blood, that's for sure. Was it lipstick? Huh. That was strange. On the same corner of the mirror, she spotted something. She tried to rub it off, but to no avail. She realized that maybe it was a reflection of something? She bent closer to the mirror. It kind of looked like... A face? No, not just any face. It was- 

A cat jumped through the window and onto the sink, startling Tamara out of her thoughts. She yelled, a little shaken. "Oh," she said. "It's just a cat..." She sighed in relief. "Don't scare me like that, little Kitty!" She scolded lightly. 

She noticed the cat had a collar. She looked at the tags on it. So, Tamara thought. His name is Ringo? She looked at the address and recognized that it was the neighbour's cat. She must return the creature to it's home. She picked it up, sparing one last look at the corner of the mirror. 

Nothing was there. 

Tamara shrugged it off like nothing and brought the cat downstairs. She walked through the front door and down the steps and walked to the left. The house was a lovely shade of burgandy that she enjoyed looking at. She wondered who lived inside, now. 

Adjusting the cat in her arms, she knocked on the door. From inside, she heard the distant chatter of what appeared to be women. She heard laughter and general good vibes came from this house. She liked it. Maybe she'd become friends with the neighbours once she moved in. 

The door opened.

Tamara gulped, taking in a large breath as sweat began to gather on her palms. Anxiety. Great. 

On the other side of the door stood a tall ginger woman with shoulder length hair tied back with a green headband with a bow at the top. She had at least two million freckles and a strangely square jaw. Her nose was pointy and she was very tall. At least, taller than Tamara. She was incredibly beautiful. 

"How can I help you?" She asked, smiling brightly. Tamara stuttered. The woman noticed the cat in her arms. "Oh, you found him! Thank you!" The woman took Ringo from Tamara's arms and Tamara found her personal space being a little bit invaded, but that was alright, she guessed. This girl was stupid hot, so, it was totally worth it. "Oh, uh-" Tamara stuttered smoothly. "He jumped on my bathroom sink, so..." The girl laughed. "Ringo always did have a thing for other people's houses." Tamara laughed nervously at that. God, she thought. How do I talk to pretty girls! 

"I'm Matilda, by the way." Matilda introduced herself. "My roommates call me Mattie or Tillie. I don't really care." Tamara gulped a little. "Y-yeah, my name is Tamara..." She said, looking away and rubbing the back of her neck nervously. "I don't have any friends, so feel free to call me what you like, I guess." Her face was a little pink at the confession. Matilda looked a little bit pitiful at that moment. "No friends!" She exclaimed. "Well we have to fix that immediately!" She ushered Tamara inside, shutting the door behind her with her foot, dropping the cat on the floor. Tamara was a tense, scared shitless and her comfort zone was out of the question, but she was the one who wanted friends, right? 

Matilda brought Tamara into the living room where two more large women sat on a red couch, feet on the coffee table, debating about something. "Tori! Ellie! We have a new friend!" Matilda smiled brightly. The two women turned their heads. "Oh," One woman said, taken aback. She wasn't as large as Matilda or the other woman, but she was certainly larger than Tamara. Tamara gulped. Her hair was very short, but the front bangs spiked up like horns. She had this muscular, hour glass shape that had Tamara staring, and her boobs- oh God, she had a nice rack right there. Tamara blushed and looked away, incredibly nervous. 

The other woman was much bigger than the rest of them, possibly having gigantism? Because, God, she was huge, in the height manner, not that she was fat- or anything, because she wasn't. She had deep brown hair tied in a ponytail, and she was very round. She looked really soft and comforting, and Tamara couldn't help but stare at her breasts. They were pretty big, actually. Tamara was just in lesbian paradise, huh? Tamara was snapped out of her thoughts. "Tillie, you're scaring the poor thing!" The largest woman said. "Let her go and let us introduce ourselves." She held out her hand. "I'm Ell," she said. "And you are?" Tamara gulped. "Terrified." Tamara said instinctively. Ell was just a big lady! Ell didn't take it offensively, though. She laughed. "Oh, don't worry, dear!" She said. "I don't bite!" She smiled. Tamara blushed a little. "I'm Tamara." She said, shaking Ell's hand. 

The other woman walked up to Tam with this cocky, seductive saunter and Tamara kind of liked it. "I'm Tori." She said with this painfully attractive accent. God, she really was in lesbian paradise, huh? "You're cute." Tori said, looking Tamara up and down. Tamara flushed bright red. "O-oh," she stuttered out competently. Tori laughed. "Awe!" She exclaimed. "She can't take a complement!" Tori gushed over her. "That's adorable!" Tamara rubbed the back of her neck shyly and Ell smacked Tori upside the head. "Be nice, you little bitch." Ell said. Tamara laughed a little at that and Tori huffed. "Oh, stick it, Ellie-phant." Tori replied. 

Matilda asked, "Are you new here?" Tamara shook her head. "No, I grew up here. The house I'm moving into is my childhood home, actually." She gestured out the naked window to the side of her house. Matilda looked a little off put at that. "That was your childhood home?" She asked, a little shook. Tamara nodded, looking a little sad. "Oh, I'm so sorry..." Matilda said. Tamara looked at her, a little bashful. "Oh? No need to be!" She said, nervous. "It's fine." Tamara figured that they knew about the tragedy there, and continued. "Everything that happened there was a long time ago. Everything is alright, now!" She promised. Matilda smiled at her sadly.

"Hey," Ell said. "Would you like some tea?" She smiled nervously. "I know that's a really British thing of me to offer," She paused to let out an anxious laugh. She was trying to clear the heavy air that set itself upon them. "But maybe we could get to know our new neighbour more!" She looked hopeful. Tori shrugged and said, "Sure." Marika agreed with much excitement. "Oh, yes please!" He beamed. Ell smiled politely. "Then it's settled then!" Tamara added. "Let's let's be a British stereotype!" She smiled this odd smile that was hard to describe with anything other than as passionate. Ell laughed. "Yeah!" She went into the kitchen to make some tea. 

Tamara walked into the kitchen, following Matilda, Tori and Ell. Ell began making the tea. "So," Matilda began, striking up friendly conversation. "What made you want to move back here?" She asked. "It's a pretty boring town, and all, and you seem like you have a little bad history, here." She nervously hinted at the fire that burned her house down. Tamara nodded, setting her head in her hand. "Yeah, I know." She said. "But it beats the noisy city any day." She huffed. "So loud, and everyone is so fucking loud, Jesus Christ." She pursed her lips. "Too much noise." Matilda nodded. "Yeah, I used to live in the city, too, and it was nothing but rude people and noise and pollution!" Tamara agreed. "Yeah, it kind of sucked." She nodded her head. 

Tori joined in. "You like silence, then, huh?" She asked. Tamara shrugged. "I like most silence. But I also do love loud music." She grinned. "What do you listen to?" Matilda asked. "Uh," Tamara thought. "A lot of literally everything." She hummed. "At least one band from every genera and sub genera there is." Tamara smiled a little. 

Ell brought the tea kettle over as it begun to whistle. "I hope you like green!" She said. Tamara nodded. "That's- that's actually my favourite!" She laughed. Ell beamed. "Me too!" Tori rolled her eyes. "I'll stick to coffee, thank you." She said as she got up to make herself some. Ell poured Tamara, Matilda and herself a cup of green tea. Tamara began to take a sip, but burned her tongue. "Ouch!" She yelped. Matilda laughed. "Careful, it's hot." She warned teasingly. With her tongue sticking out of her mouth, she said, "Sc'wew you!" She pursed her lips with her tongue still out and blew a raspberry at Matilda. Matilda laughed, and Ell joined in, too. 

Eventually, Tamara had to leave, the moving trucks were going to be there, soon. Ell had offered to help, but Tamara politely refused. She didn't have much, and none of it was too heavy for her; she could carry five times her own weight with no problem because of her powerful legs. Tamara just had a problem. She didn't want to get too overly emotional around these awesome women she had just met. There were a lot of memories waiting to be unwrapped in that moving truck, and she would have to open them eventually. 

Tamara walked to her car and pulled out what she had brought. A mattress, a pillow and a blanket for starters, and a suitcase with all her clothing and hygiene products. She pulled out her phone to check the time. It was ten o'clock. The movers would arrive at around lunchtime.

Tamara worked on getting the mattress up the stairs and through that mahogany door at the end of the hall. Her childhood bedroom, actually. She lugged the huge thing up the stairs, having to take her hoodie off in the middle of it when she got too hot. Underneath, she wore a black tanktop. Her jeans stuck to her legs in an uncomfortable manner and she wished she could take them off. She could, but not now. She tied her hair back better than it was: she put it in a messy bun, then tied a bandana around her head to catch the sweat. However, she was still hot and sticky. She huffed and got on with it. She pulled the mattress up the stairs a little at a time.

It took about half an hour, total to get it up the stairs and in the hall. Now, it was easy to push it in through the doorway of her bedroom. The wooden floors actually made that quite a bit easier for her. She plopped the mattress on the ground and pushed it in a corner next to an outlet and under a window. She went for her blanket and pillow, next, then her suitcase. She changed her jeans into shorts - despite then cold weather - because she was hot as hell. For once, she didn't care how she looked; if her legs were fat, if she shaved, (not that she ever really cared about shaving, anyways). Tamara sat outside on her front porch smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer. She removed her shoes, (she likes being barefoot better, so who needs 'em?), and socks, too, and stretched her legs. She grinned. It would be another hour and a half until the trucks got there. Maybe she could do a little cleaning? 

When she finished her addictive substances. 

She smoked and drank for a while longer, until there was nothing left to smoke and drink, and she went back inside. Everything was dusty and old looking. She grabbed a broom from her car and pulled out another bandana to cover her mouth. Time to get sweeping. 

Tamara opened every door and window to ensure that all the dust would get out, and she began to sweep out the front door. She slowly made her way into the sitting and living rooms, which were straight ahead upon entering the house from the front. She then went to the left, where the kitchen was. 

Once the downstairs was swept, she took a look at the stairs leading up. They were even dustier. She put on her bravest face and began to sweep. 

Sweat soaked her bandana, and her underarms, too. She wiped a little off her face and continued to clean. Her muscles were sore from the constant back and forth of sweeping, but she would be okay. All the more reason to be excited when she got to go to bed again. When she was finished sweeping the whole house, she grabbed some rags to completely finish the job. She dipped some in water and plopped them on the floor. She got on her hands, her feet still on the ground, and she ran through the house with her ass in the air like a Studio Ghibli freak. Oh, wait. 

She stumbled a few times, not everything worked out perfectly like in the animes, but it did get the job done. She once even did a complete flip when she stumbled over a small hole in the wood. She landed right on her ass. She rubbed her sore tailbone and laughed bittersweetly. This was actually kind of fun. She continued to dip rags in water to clean the floors of the house all day.

The movers drove up and began to ask where things went, and she was still cleaning. "Ma'am, where does this go?" A moving man asked. He was holding a small, lightweight desk. "That goes in the study. Up the stairs down the right hall. Can't miss it." The guy nodded and began to walk. "Oh, and," Tamara caught his attention again. He looked at her. "Call me 'ma'am' one more time, and I will rip your ears off, got it?" She fixed him with a dirty look. He shivered. "Y-yes, ma- miss!" She laughed as he stumbled over his words and corrected himself. He rolled his eyes and brought the desk up the stairs. 

When she was done cleaning, she paid the moving men, and even offered them some beer she had put in the fridge earlier. Some took a drink, others, no. Someone had to drive, right? Tamara sipped her drink and stared at the sky as the moving men left. "I need to make some food..." She muttered. She checked her watch. It was two-thirtyfive pm. Not too late for lunch, right? 

She went into the kitchen to see what she had. She had no food. Right. She just moved in. She sighed. She needed to go to the store. She grabbed her wallet and her car keys and walked out of the house with her bandana still on, in her tanktop and shorts, and she didn't care. She needed a fucking sammich. 

She grabbed her bike from the back of her car and hopped on it. She peddled down the street to the market not too far from here. She could walk here and back in half an hour, maximum. She took a left turn down the block and peddled harder as a car passed. She didn't have a helmet on at the moment, so she needed to be careful. 

She made it to the market with little to no difficulty, parked her bike safely, and walked inside, not caring if she smelled like sweat and gross things. Women smelled gross, sometimes, too, you know.

She got weird looks, but she didn't care. She grabbed herself some eggs, for egg and toast sammiches in the mornings, and some soup, yum! She grabbed tomato and chicken noodle, and oh. She needed a cart, now. She looked around and nabbed an abandoned one at an isle corner and put her items inside. She made sure to be careful just in case it actually wasn't abandoned and someone needed it. She heard a distant, "Hey!" As she quickly walked away with the cart. Mission completed. 

She walked to the frozen isle for some pizza and ice cream, then to the dairy isle for milk and cheese- God, Tamara loved cheese. Then, she grabbed some fresh lettuce and had a very serious mental debate on whether or not she should get ham, or roasted turkey. She went with turkey, and grabbed a few packages of that. She knew that she would eat several sammiches if she got bored because she was a fat, lonely fuck, and she wasn't afraid to show it. 

Tamara paid for her items and left the store, sticking them in the reusable bag she bought. She put the bag on her shoulder and biked away. 

She made it home easily, and she put her groceries away rather quickly, leaving out the ingredients for her sammich. She put ketchup and mayonnaise on the bread, roasted turkey, lettuce and a little bit of salt and pepper to add some spice, and some sliced deli cheese. She bit into her sammich happily and ate away. 

As she ate, she realized that she still had a lot of unpacking to do. Well, at least most of the boxes were in the right places. She checked the time. Three o'clock. She should start thinking about sinner, soon. Until then, she deserved a little break. She sauntered to the living room and found the box with her television in it. She picked it up and grabbed the wires needed for it, plugging them in. She got a roku for Christmas from a co-worker friend of hers from where she used to work at the music store in the city. She missed her friend, but the quiet of her hometown was so much nicer. She read the instructions on the box and began to put her entertainment experience together. 

After she set up her telly, she watched a few episodes of Stranger Things. The episodes were long, so it was easy to get sucked in. By the time she realized she was hungry again, it was already five-thirty! She decided spaghetti would be a good choice for dinner.

She got up and dug around her kitchen boxes for a pot. She found one and filled it up with water. She set it on the stove and added some salt, waiting for it to boil. She leaned over the back of the couch to watch the TV she hadn't paused when she got up. She watched for a while, then went back in the kitchen to check on the water. It was boiling. 

Shit.

She forgot to get the noodles. She dug around her pantry for some noodles and sauce. She found some and poured the package into the boiling water. 

She ate dinner in the living room, watching TV. What better way to spend a Friday? She ate off of a paper plate with a plastic fork; she didn't feel like unloading the silverware and s quite yet, and she enjoyed her well deserved mother fucking spaghetti. 

When she was done, she tossed away her dishes and sat on the couch. She lazily pressed buttons on her remote when the situation called for it, but other than that, she laid back, comfy and tired. 

Until-

There was something uncomfortable under her ass. She shifted, thinking it was just the couch, but no. It just stayed there, under her butt and making her feel uncomfortable. She rolled off of her, (warm), spot on the couch, and picked up some red lipstick. It seemed like it was the same one from before. Huh. How did that  there? She shrugged. It was probably old, and she might've melted it, now, with her ass-heat. She should throw it away. So, she tossed it into the trash and fell asleep on the couch. She was so tired. 

~°0°•°•°0°~

Tamara woke up on the couch, dreading having to go through her boxes of shit. He groaned and stretched, popping her joints and accidentally moaning sexually as she did so. She didn't care, though, she was the only one here. She stood and sighed. She decided to eat some breakfast and then maybe take a shower? Or should she shower after she unpacked her boxes? She sniffed her armpit and cringed. Shower after breakfast. Immediately. 

Tamara made herself a bowl of cereal, thankful that all of the heavy furniture was unloaded yesterday, and now all she had to do was put her bed together, hang up some pictures, put away some dishes and probably do some laundry. Now that she thinks of it, she's currently living off of her parent's money, right? She might want to get a job if she wants to keep this house. She sighed. Being a grocery store clerk doesn't seem too bad, right? 

When Tamara finished her cereal, she rinsed the bowl and set it in the dishwasher. She grabbed some of that beer from her fridge and popped it open, enjoying that satisfying 'shlick' as she did so. She took a sip, swallowing thickly. She decided to start with the kitchen, since she was already here. 

Tamara grabbed her box of fragile china, and began to unload it into the highest shelf of the cabinets where the plates and bowls go. It was her mother's expensive, Asian china, with a lovely tea set,plates and bowls, too. They all had beautiful renditions of cherry blossoms on them. Tamara loved these very much. As she put away the last plate, (she'd use the cabinets until she got a real china cabinet), she heard her doorbell ring. 

She stepped off the step stool she had to use to climb up high enough to place the dishes, and carefully walked to the door. She was wearing nothing but booth shorts and a white tank-top, her bandana almost sideways on her head. Oh shit. She'd forgotten to shower. Her palms began to sweat as she gripped the door handle. She peered out the little hole-thing in the door she'd forgotten the name of and noticed it was the neighbour, Matilda. She shook a little in anxiety, but opened the door. "Hi, Matilda!" She greeted, nervously. Matilda noticed her appearance and laughed.

"You look quite haggard, rough night?" She asked. Ell behind her smacked her upside the head. Weird. Tamara hadn't even noticed she was there. "Don't be rude, Tilly!" She scolded. Tamara laughed and rubbed the back of her neck. "No, it's fine. I slept on the couch and forgot to shower, hah." Tori interrupted. "We came over to see if you needed any extra help?" She said. Tamara hadn't noticed her, neither. Huh. "Oh, uhm, I don't know, I've gotten it pretty under control, I think." Matilda said, "Are you sure?" Tamara then looked back at the mess. With three more people helping her, this whole project would go a lot quicker. "Alright," Tamara agreed. "Sure, come in!" She smiled, leaving the doorway. "Pardon the mess, I've only just woken up and started unpacking, hah." She laughed nervously again. 

Ell said, "Oh, don't worry, dear. We're used to messes like these." She said, casting a glance to Matilda. Matilda turned beat red. "Shut up!" She whined. Ell laughed and Tamara's heart fluttered. 

"I've started in the kitchen, for now." Tamara said, walking in. "Putting away dishes and junk." Matilda smiled when she saw the pretty China on the counter. "Oh!" She exclaimed. "This is gorgeous!" She beamed brightly. Tamara turned a little pink and rubbed the back of her neck. "Hah, that belonged to my mother. She gave me her China." Tamara explained. "Pretty sweet, right?" Matilda giggled. "So pretty!"

Ell looked around the kitchen and peered in the living room. "This house is actually really nice!" She said. Tamara nodded. "Yup." She said, popping the 'p' at the end. "She's a damn sturdy cup of tea." She knocked on the walls as if to prove the house's strength. Ell laughed. "Yeah, she is." Ell looked a little sad as she gazed around.

Tori sat on the counter, next to Matilda, who had began putting away the China, very carefully. "What can we help with?" She asked. Tamara stretched, feeling her joints pop and she yawned. She was still tired. "Well, I guess Matilda has started on the dishes..." Tamara muttered while she thought. "I got most of the difficult stuff done yesterday, most of this is kind of busywork. I've got a lot of clothes that need to be washed and folded, and picture frames, too." She tapped her chin. "Well, let's start here and worry about everything else later." Tamara waved it all off. She picked up a box labeled 'kitchen' and opened it. It was full of pots and pans. Tamara began to unload them. Ell helped.

"Where do these go, Tamara?" Ell asked. Tamara looked at the pot she was holding. Tamara thought. "They go on that island, right there. Just hang it up." There, behind Ell, was an island in the middle of the kitchen. It was hollow, with sliding wooden doors. Ell opened it up and hung the pot on one of the built in hooks at the top. "That's where all the pots and pans should fit." Tamara said, digging out a small pot and having it up. Tori had began helping Matilda put away the china.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also the title is a work in progress please don't hate me if you think its a new chapter
> 
> One more thing, (actually, now that I think about it, it's several): I'm constantly editing this, adding details, fixing mistakes and adding more to the story, kinda like an episodic game, as this story is a draft and not yet finished, though I know full well how I want the plot to go and how I want to finish the story. However, if you have ideas, input, constrictive criticism, or something else to say, let me know in the comments below, or at my tumblr, @ theprinceofmilk.tumblr.com and I'll be happy to answer an ask there. I also take requests; I have no fear, distaste or judgement to any ship, if you ship it and request me to write it, I'll probably write it, but don't hate me if I can't take it seriously, I've got the mentality of an eight year old.  
> -Milky


	12. Baby And The Lonely House (Poem Ver.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was reading back through chapter 10 and thought it might sound nice as a poem, so I made this.

He roamed the halls

With empty calls

That no one would ever hear

And for his loves, he would shed a single, ghostly tear

 

He cried His name

And in vain

At that

Forgive him, Lord

For he know not what he does

 

The child was angry

The child was hurt

The child wanted to play in the dirt

 

But his mother said no

And inside he stayed

And instead t'was a hiding game that he had played

 

And while fire licked the air at his feet

Never would he allow his dear sibling to cheat

So inside he stayed

T'was a hiding game that he had played

 

So in vain, he cursed the God up and above

Forgive him, Lord

For he knows not what he does

He's merely a child

Be with him just

And never shall his spirit be turned into dust


	13. Tom Is An Author

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah Headcannon guys

It was the first night back and Tom had been typing. 

Typing, typing typing. 

So much fucking typing. 

Tord stared at him from across the room, in his bed. Tom had his headphones on, occasionally wiggling around in his spot to the heat of his music. His leg randomly started vibrating, or something, and Tom put a hand on his knee to stop it. 

All of this might have been fine if I weren't two in the fucking morning. Tord put his pillow over his head. He just wanted some fucking sleep. But he knew that he couldn't mess with Tom right now. He appeared to be in The Zone™. The Zone™ is where Tom is most efficient in his writing. Edd has warned Tord multiple times not to fuck with Tom when he's in The Zone™, but now, he's trying so hard not to rip that Godforsaken laptop from his tiny little hands and smash it with a hammer. Tord sighed and walked up to Tom, who was too in his writing to notice Tord. 

He noticed Tom's expression. 

It was dark. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept in days. His breathing was weird. His hair was a bit greasy, his skin looking like a worn leather couch. His lips looked really chapped. Tord realized this was the first good look he's gotten of Tom since he got back. Tord leaned over to see what he was writing. 

 _'He will always be there.'_ He typed. It was the top of a new page. Tord looked down and noticed that it was page number eighteen. 

 _'People like him will always be there, and there is no stopping it. People like him will come along and ruin what you have and replace you. You will be forgotten soon enough and you'll be alone again. But it's better if you're alone, if you think about it. If you're alone, no one can hurt you.'_  

Tord felt a little worried at that. He also felt like that was an invasion of privacy. Like he wasn't supposed to have read that. Tom hadn't noticed him. 

 _'I can hear them.'_ Hear what?  _'They're talking to me.'_ Who's talking?  _'They tell me I'm awful. They tell me to hurt things. They tell me to hurt myself. They tell me I don't deserve it. I don't deserve it.'_ Tord looked at Tom again, who hadn't noticed he was there. Tom appeared a little more hunched over, and his expression changed dramatically. He looked frustrated, tired, sad.  _'They tell me tossssskdjdmksjdjdmsjsjdjdmsksjsjsjkd-'_ Tord pursed his lips and furrowed his brows. He tilted his head to the side. Tom leaned forward and put his forehead on the edge of his laptop. He sighed. 

Tom sat up and rubbed his temples. He grabbed his left arm with his right and pressed his thumb on a spot, a few inches from his wrist. Tom took in shaky breaths. Tord carefully walked away and lay back down in his bed. He thought about this moment for a long time. 


	14. Alien AU (Draft)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom is an alien, guys, o shit whaddup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend and I shared ideas, and this happened

Alien AU Draft?

  
It was dark and rainy when it arrived.   
It looked like a shooting star, in all honesty.   
But then it got closer.   
And closer.  
Too close.   
TOO CLOSE.  
The man on the back porch screamed.   
There was a crash. Grass was uprooted, dirt went flying. There was a huge crator in the ground, now. The man his behind the curtains covering his sliding glass doors. He furrowed his brows. How were his roommates sleeping through this? Maybe they thought it was part of the rainstorm going on.   
Down to mor important matters: his yard! He worked so hard on it, and it got obliterated so easily! Ugh! He went to inspect the cause of this disaster. His eyes went wide in shock. It was a sort of pod, made from a strange material. Shiny, it looked sticky, too, but when he reached out to touch it, the man had never felt anything smoother. It was smooth and soft to the touch. He continued to touch it, it was squishy, too. What? What kind of species made this?   
He looked to the sky.   
Damn aliens.  
Suddenly, smoke erupted from the pod. The man jumped back as the pod began to melt all over his lawn! He made a disgusted face. Inside the gooey mess was what appeared to be this large, plastic looking sphere. He tilted his head. It began to open, too. This door like thing began to take form, black lines showing around it. The 'door' fell off, and out was pushed a strange object. It looked like a giant avacado seed. Ot went up to his knee, for Christ's sake! The man furrowed his brows. It began to crack, like an egg.   
What the hell?  
Inside of it was this thing that looked like a flower. A really big flower. This man made a face. "The hell are you?" He asked it. It made a high pitched shrill and didn't move. The man was taken aback. Suddenly, there was a loud sound from the pod. The human turned his attention to the scene.   
It was another high pitched shrill. Out of the pod climbed this pathetic little creature. It was pink and purple in colour, and it appeared like a large dog, of sorts? It had four legs and a head, or the human assumed it to be that, and it looked like it had a mouth, too. As it climbed out, the human male noticed it had a tail, too. Black, with spikes on the end. The creature inspected the flower, communicating with it through it's shrills. It placed a clawed paw on the top of it, and the flower shrilled more. The creature carefully climbed atop the flower creature and looked at the human man before it. It tilted it's head to the side, it's tail wrapping around it. The flower began to lift itself up, floating around.   
The man was shocked and amazed. He stared and watched in awe. The creature stared at him some more, and the man waved to it. The creature seemed to absorb this information, and looked at it's own claw.   
It waved back.   
After that, it flew away.

  
\--Three Years Later --  
Three years later, and he still slept with his stupid flower thing. He still talked to it, too. Shrills could be heard from his bedroom going back and forth. He still used it when he didn't want to walk, sometimes, too.   
Most of the time, he stayed in his most comfortable form, the partially-human-looking form. It was nice. His hands and feet were claws and his ears were pointy and purple. He had a tail, too, and purple freckles dotted his face and most of his body. He always wore these leggings that Matt got him. They were navy blue leggings with yellow stars on them. They reminded him of home. On top, he wore a blue hoodie. He liked the colour blue. It reminded him of home, too.  
Tom didn't need to brush his teeth, and his hair was always changing, from pink, or red, or green, or orange, or blue or purple. Tom always said that it reminded him of home. Even though he ate, his body didn't digest human food they same way it does his own food, so it kind of just dissolved in his stomach. His eyes were black and his his tongue was blue. He was all sorts of strange. He liked alcohol quite a bit, too. A bit too much for Edd's liking. But he couldn't seem to ever really get drunk. He had a liver of steel and the tolerance of twelve and a half sailors.   
He danced in his room to all sorts of music, a lot of The Beatles, really. It was mainly by himself, but he had his cor with him, which was his the 'flower thing' as Tord called it. Tom had named it Tribble after watching Star Trek. He loved Tribble a lot. He always had Tribble with him. One time, as a prank, Tord had hidden Tribble and fed it plant food to keep it quiet. Tom tried to look for it everywhere, but ended up in a small puddle of black tar tears on the kitchen floor. His hair had turned black in that moment. Tord felt bad, especially after Edd scolded him, and Tord gave Tribble back. Tom hugged it and didn't let go for a second for two days straight after that.   
The day Tom met Ringo was a day to remember. He found that he was able to actually communicate with him by shrilling at him. They would have conversations together. It was actually quite cute to see him talking to a cat.   
Tom was a very emotional character. He ran around, full of energy and all sorts of spunk. He was the adorable little alien spitfire of everyone's dreams. Edd had gotten him these silver ankle boots as a joke, but once Tom put them on, they never came off. He loved them so much.   
Tom was dancing to music in his room, smiling. He sang along, too. He liked this song. He preferred listening to music out loud; headphones were weird on his non-human ears.  
But that was all before.   
Now?   
Now Tom listened to music with headphones. His hair stayed dark all the time. He took Tribble out more and more often, talked less. Wore more clothes. He sat on the couch and watched TV while he ate his feelings.   
Tom and Tord had never really gotten along, especially when Tom noticed that his name was similar to the word Torb, in his language. Torb was apparently the action of draining something. Tom joked how Tord drained the fun out of things. Tord made fun of him for being an alien.   
Tord liked to pick on Tom when he didn't understand a human item or action. Clapping, for example. He just didn't get it. You slap yourself over and over to show you like something? He didn't really understand it. And urinating, too. Tom would have made a terrible human, all of his human friends knew it. But Tord was the one who picked on him for it.   
So, thus began the never ending cycle of hatred and bickering.   
Until.  
One day, about a year ago, Tord brought a different human over and introducedit as his girlfriend. Tom didn't know what a girlfriend was. Or a boyfriend. Tord laughed as Edd explained. Tom made an 'oh' face. He began to observe them. Ashe was her name.   
Ashe was this sparky, punk girl, who wore crop tops and tiny shorts and tall boots. The music she listened to was bad, and she had this feel about her, like there was something wrong.  
Tom didn't like her. She was too nice, she over did things, tried too hard. She wasn't like Tord, or Edd or Matt, or any of the other humans he met. She seemed wrong. He hardly expressed his opinion on her, though. But he couldn't help the weird feeling in his chest he got when he saw her with Tord. Sure, he didn't like the guy, but he didn't deserve someone as wrong as Ashe. Tom knew there was something wrong with her, but he never spoke up.  
Ashe was bad.  
Tom's health began go go downhill after that.   
Over a month, he got more tired, his limbs were weak, but he couldn't stop writhing, and Tord made him so much more irritated than usual. He thought he was coming down with a human sickness, so he consulted Edd. He explained that his stomach was weird. He didn't know if it was bad or good, though. His legs felt weak and wobbly, and his hands were sweaty, like a human. He didn't understand.   
Edd told Tom to lay down and he would give him soup. Tom didn't recall ever having 'soup' yet, so this would be new to him. Tom likes soup. Edd had gave him tomato soup and Tom found the flavour so enticing and weird. He loved it. But that didn't help his symptoms. He only appeared to get sicker and sicker. He didn't have a fever Edd could trace. Tom's normal temperature was eighty-two degrees. This time, it was only eighty-three. Not any cause for concern.   
But then it happened.  
Tom lost his personality all together over the course of a few weeks. Every day, he appeared to get sicker and sicker. He got meaner and more sarcastic than usual and sometimes, just flat out rude. Ashe had noticed, and asked Edd about it. He didn't know. Nobody knew. Tom didn't tell anyone about how he felt.   
He watched Tord, every day, looking so goddamn happy with Ashe. It wasn't fair. Why could she be happy with Tord, and he not be happy at all? Ashe was wrong. She didn't belong here, and Tom didn't like her. He stayed in his room as much as possible when she came over.   
This hadn't gone unnoticed, however.   
Matt would come into Tom's room and try to ask him questions, but more often than not, he was already talking about it to Tribble. Tribble was an odd creature that nobody understood, but they loved it anyways because Tom cherished it. But they didn't know if venting to Tribble was a good idea. They wanted to help, too.   
Tom would be yelling out high pitched shrills at Tribble, and it would seem to give feedback, but nobody really knew what went on when Tom talked to Tribble.   
Matt would get angry shrills in his face if he barged in on Tom, Ashe in the house or not, so he learned to knock. Tom was huddled in on himself, headphones on his head, cuddling Tribble. Matt thought he heard quiet sniffles. Tom hadn't noticed him, so he took that as a good sign and left.   
When Ashe left, Matt confronted Edd.   
"Edd," he said. "There's something wrong with Tom." Matt looked concerned. Edd turned from his computer in his room and set down his cola. "Why, what's wrong with him?" Edd asked back. "He went up to his room when Ashe came over, right?" Edd nodded. "Well, I went to check on him, and he was- I think he was crying." Edd looked worried. "Oh, no," he said. "Is he okay?" Edd asked. Matt shrugged. "I didn't want to bother him. You know how he gets around Ashe." Edd nodded. "I'll go see." Edd got up, going to Tom's room, which was a door marked with stars and spacey things.   
Edd knocked. No answer. He knocked again. A thump and Tom answered the door a few seconds later. Headphones around his neck, he looked exhausted and tired. He hummed. "What do you want?" He asked. Tribble's little trills could be heard from in the room. Edd looked worried. "May I come in?" He asked. Tom shrugged. "Sure." He stepped aside, and Edd walked in.   
"Tom," Edd began gently. "Are you okay?" He asked. Tom made a face. "Why?" He asked. "Because-" Edd tried to reason. "You seem... Off, lately, sad." Tom didn't deny it. Tom sat on his bed. "It's nothing, really." Edd sat down next to him. "Are you sure?" Edd coaxed him, wrapping am arm around his small body. Tom leaned into him, but only replied in quiet trills.   
"Tom." Edd said, more firmly. "You know I don't understand that." Tom nodded. "I know." Tom sounded sad about that. "C'mon, buddy." He said. "What's wrong?" He lifted Tom's chin. Tom frowned. "I just-" he looked like he wanted to cry. He pushed Edd away a little and pulled his knees to his chest. He trilled to himself sadly. Edd felt pity for his foreign friend. Tom sniffled.   
Tom mumbled something under his breath. "What?" Edd asked, leaning forward. "I miss home." He said, sadly. Edd looked at Tom, pity evident in his features, now. Tom's hair got a little darker when he said that. Edd smiled and hugged Tom tight. "That's okay." He said. "Being homesick is okay."   
Edd finally knew what was wrong with his friend.   
Edd hugged Tom tight and shushed him. Tom didn't exactly know what Edd was doing, but liked it, anyways. "Why can't you go back?" Edd asked. Tom didn't answer this question for a long time, staring a head into Edd's hoodie. He finally answered a few minutes later. "It's dead." He said. "It's been Torb." He said, laughing a little. Edd was confused. "What?" Tom sighed. "I wasn't completely honest when I said that torb was the action of draining something." He leaned into Edd some more. "It's more the act of draining the life out of something." Tom looked at his hands. "That's what happened to my planet." His voice cracked at the end and his hands shook a little. He cried into Edd's hoodie.   
"I don't know his many others survived." He said, his voice muffled and wobbly. "If any others survived." He held on tighter. He practically crawled into Edd's lap, crying black tears of loss. Edd has never felt so horrible in his life. Tom lost everyone, everything he ever knew, he was forced here. Edd held him tighter and rocked him back and forth. "It's okay, Tom." He consoles. "You're so brave, Tom."   
But that wasn't the only thing bothering Tom. For Edd, it was enough; it made sense that Tom would be messed up about that for a while. However, he still had things bothering him. But he didn't want anyone to know.   
Tom was in love, and it hurt more than anything else in the world.   
He was in love with Tord, and it broke him apart.   
Tord loved Ashe, it was clear. The way he treated her, talked about her. He spent more and more time at her house, so much time, that Tom was scared he might move there. He heard that's what people like boyfriends and girlfriends did. He wanted Tord around, he really did. He wanted Tord. He loved him. But he was just so jealous.   
So, so jealous.   
It hurt him to be this jealous of a person, and he often cried himself to sleep next to Tribble because of it.   
But he never spoke a word. He was too scared to. He knew if he said something, everything would be ruined, their rival relationship, their friends might split apart,cbad things would happen and Tord would hate him for real.   
So Tom cried himself to sleep.   
One day, Tord came home, angry. He slammed doors and shook the house. Tom jumped around him, afraid. Why was he so angry? He was angrier than Tom usually was. "What's your problem?" He asked Tord. Tord growled and didn't say anything. He stormed up to his room. To shrugged. "Whatever." He went back to his mind numbing television.   
Edd called from the kitchen. "Hey, Tom," Tom hummed. "What?" He asked. "Go ask Tord if he wants some bacon!" Tom hummed again. "Okay." Tom got up, walking to Tord's room. He knocked. Tord said, "Go away." But it was muffled, and quiet. Tom rolled his eyes. He opened the door. "Hey, commie fuck." Tom said. Tord turned away quickly and growled. "Go away, Tom." He sniffled. Tom made a face. Was he... Crying? No, no way! Tom walked up behind him, a little worried. His put a hand on his shoulder. "Yo, Commie, you okay?" He asked.   
Tord pulled his knees to his chest and didn't answer. Tom took that as a no. Tom felt guilty and sad for him. So, he did the only thing he could. He wrapped his arms around Tord, tight, and very quietly, he chirped a little. Two small chirps. Tord was confused. Tom was hugging him from behind and making this strange sound he's never heard before. Shrills and trills, yeah. He's heard those. This, however, was far different. Tord turned around.   
Tom let go of Tord and stepped back. His face was beat red, and he didn't look at Tord. He made that clear by turning his head. His hair was dark blue, today. "What was that?" Tord asked. Tom shook his head. "Y'know, I'll just, uh, go." Tom began to walk out. Tord grabbed his arm. "Tom, wait." He said. Tom froze. He turned around. "Yeah?" He asked, quiet. "What was that sound?" Tom shook his head. Tom looked at Tord, pity on his face. "Were you crying?" He asked, reaching out. Tord looked at Tom and flinched away. "N-no, I, uh" Tord couldn't find anything to say. He sighed.   
"Yeah, I was crying." Tom looked worried. His lips quivered and Tord looked away. "Why?" Tom asked. He glared. "Was it Ashe?" He his voice took a darker, deeper turn. Tord didn't answer. Tom looked worried and angry and he wanted to make sure Tord stopped hurting. So, he wrapped his arms around Tord's neck and chirped again. Tord was taken aback. "Just for the record," Tom said. "I never liked Ashe." He looked at Tord dead in the eye, and Tord swore he could see his own death in there.   
Tord nodded. "Yeah, we all got that!" Tord laughed. "You were right." Tom cupped Tord's face in his hands. "I'm sorry she hurt you, Tord." Tom nuzzled his cheek and sighed sadly. "I'm sorry." He sounded tired. "Why do you care?" Tom didn't answer. He just hugged Tord tighter. "Tom," Tord said, pulled away and grabbing the alien by his shoulders. "Are you okay?" Tom shrugged. "I'm fine. What we need to worry about is you-" Tord rolled his eyes. "Tom! Care about yourself for once!" "I would, if you weren't out there trying to hurt yourself!" Tom argued back. "Why do you care so much!?" Tord yelled back. "Because that's what people who love each other do!" Tom said, glaring at Tord. "They care about each other more than themselves, and it's okay because if everyone loves each other, then there's enough love to go around for everyone." Tom looked down. "And I love you, so I have to care about you." Tom teared up a little.   
Tord looked at Tom and he finally understood.   
Tord has never hugged anyone tighter in his life.   
\-- Three Weeks Later --  
Tord pinned Tom to the wall, kissing him breathless, moving across his jawline and then to his neck. Tom kind of laughed and moaned at the same time, holding Tord's head and bringing it back up to his face. He kissed Tord's lips again. Tom's short legs wrapped around Tord's waist, and he laughed as he kissed Tord gentler.   
Edd burst into the room and covered his eyes. "Oh, my God." He said, cringing. "Alright." He said. "Just want to say that dinner was ready, bye." Edd left. Tom laughed. He's been far more colourful, lately. Tom used Tord's distraction as a way to bite his earlobe. Tord laughed, too, while Tom chirped kindly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the spacing is so weird,, I copied and pasted it from Google Docs, ha.


	15. Nameless WIP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom beats the fuck out of Tord,,
> 
> That's it..

It all started when Matt's grandmother went to the hospital. She lived far out in the northern area, closer to Ireland, where Matt came from. She had a stroke, and it took a long time to get there. Matt had packed bags for a few days with empty eyes.

So Matt was out of the picture for a while.

A day later, mail came in for Edd. Edd opened it up, Tom and Tord curiously glancing over his shoulder, but he growled and turned away. He hated when people did that. But his frown was soon to be taken from him as a bright beam flew onto his features. He let out a loud, "WOO!" As he danced around the kitchen.

Edd had given a job application to a company to animate some commercials for them, and he got accepted! He was so excited! He couldn't wait to make some bank, now. One problem, though. He had to pack his bags and leave for Colorado ASAP. He didn't mind, though. He was going to make some moolah, so who gave a fuck? He packed his bags as soon as possible. Good thing he needn't worry about a ticket, the company had already provided him with one. Edd's never been to Colorado, before, so he was incredibly nervous and excited. Tom and Tord were really happy for him, though, they dreaded when he left. The two of them would be home alone without Edd or Matt for a week; maybe more. Tom grimaced and tried to make it look like a smile, but it was really more of an unconvincing cringe.

Edd left that evening, sometime after dinner to get to the airport. He said his goodbyes and made his way off.

Tom, full of spaghetti and generally tired, sat on the couch to binge watch some show. He didn't know what show, yet, but he would binge watch it into the wee hours of the morning, all whilst cheerily drinking his emotional issues away.

Tord rolled his eyes and sat down next to him, on the other side of the couch. "You're going to kill yourself, you know that, right?" Tord said, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, that's the point." Tom said quietly, almost inaudibly. Tord had honestly thought he misheard, so he asked, "What?" Tom looked at him, bewildered and confused. "What?" He replied, suddenly seeming nervous. Tord made a face, but brushed it off as one of those jokes Tom made all the time. "Never mind." Tom seemed relieved at this and continued scrolling for a show. He finally settled on American Horror Story.

Tord was never fond of the new horror stuff. Too scary for him, but he'd never admit it. He was more the cheesy, classic, slasher movie type, unlike Tom, who loved the new, scary stuff. Tord preferred the less realistic, no CGI, classic and predictable movies, like The Shining, and The Excorcist. While Tom was a horror movie nerd and loved the classics, the newer stuff seemed to satisfy his sadistic craving for blood, guts, horror and nightmarish themes. Tord stood up. "Yeah, I'll be in my room if you need me." Tord said. Tom hummed. "Alright, pussy." Tom mocked.

Tord whipped his head around. "What?" He said. "What did you just call me?" He growled as he bounded over to Tom. Tom raised his brows. "I called you a pussy." He smirked. Tord grabbed him by the front of his grey shirt. Tord growled in his face. "Wow," Tom said, raising his brows. "Sounds like someone's masculinity is somewhere on the fragile side!" Tom sung. Tord threw him on the couch, glaring at him. "My masculinity isn't fragile!" He yelled. Tom laughed. "Sounds like someone who's masculinity is fragile!" He snorted. Tord rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Whatever." He said. Tom sat up. "At least when I'm acting like a gay-ass, I own it." He smirked as he stood up, preparing himself for a fight, just in case. "Well, excuse my bisexuality!" He said, getting closer to him. "You're excused." Tom said, waving his hand as if to signal Tord off. For some reason, that only made Tord angrier.

Tord threw the first punch, and it wasn't even a good one. He missed, miserably. He let his emotions get the best of him. Tom dodged the punch easily, and said, "Oh, you want to go that route, eh?" Tom gave Tord a surprisingly sadistic grin that he's never seen before. Tord knew he fucked up.

Tom instantly kneed Tord right between the legs as hard as he could, getting his balls pretty good. Tom smirked wider. Tord bent over in pain, making this hilarious face, too. Tom grabbed Tord's head and shoved his knee right between his eyes, and Tord started to fall. However, Tom wasn't done, yet. As Tord began to fall on his right side, Tom punched his up-facing, left cheek so he hit the ground harder. Tord lay on the ground, this big, intimidating man, whimpering in pain. Tom smirked and kneeled down.

"Don't fuck with me." He said.

Tom stood and began walking to the stairs. "You can have the telly, or whatever. I'm going to my room." And with that, Tom left him there. Tord growled, vowing to get his revenge on the smaller man. How could this have happened! Tord was so much bigger, and Tom was just this tiny, little string bean with hardly any muscle! He was angry at himself for starting a stupid fight like that.

He got up and went to the downstairs bathroom, limping a little, to check his wounds. Tord looked in the mirror. Yeah, he could already see the bruises forming on his forehead and left cheek, and his balls hurt like a fucking bitch. He hissed in pain.

((WIP))


	16. A Beautiful Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom, in Tord's eyes.

I don't know a lot of things.

  
Well, compared to Tom, my IQ was twelve.

  
At first, you wouldn't have noticed it. Not on your own.

  
And it's not like he would show someone right off the bat. Never.

  
Tom's intelligence was just something he kept to himself. Not quite a secret, really, but nobody really knew about it. Actually, Edd did. Edd knew a lot about how smart Tom was. It was clear the guy was an absolute genius, he graduated highschool at fourteen and made the national news! He graduated film school at eighteen. All the things he could have done with his intelligence, and he goes to school to learn how to be unemployed. It made him happy, though, so nobody questioned it.

  
Anyways.

  
No one would guess that Tom was highly aware, and, in his phrasing, 'woke'. It was more like one of those strange and suspicious talents that people had, like being able to quickly break into people's houses or tell who someone is by their footsteps. In fact, Tom seemed like the regular drunk, cotton headed ninnymuggins. Just some Joe schmoe. Maybe that's why he did it.   
Tom liked tricking people, surprising them and making them think.   
He would randomly say something out of the blue, something weird, though. Not something intelligent, really, or anything of real importance, but it would make you think. For example: "If Lightning McQueen got in an accident, would he need car insurance, or life insurance?" It wasn't something smart, but it always made me think.

  
Lightning McQueen is a mutated car, right? They had to evolve from somewhere. If they evolved from something weird, like a bug, or even a damn fish, (it's possible because evolution is weird), and grew just like humans, then they wouldn't even know that they were cars, right? Then there wouldn't be any such thing as cars, so car insurance wouldn't exist, therefore causing car insurance to be thrown out the window, leaving merely life insurance for the mutated creatures to claim. Tom and I had a long and detailed discussion on it, actually. Edd and Matt gave us strange looks as we talked, but this was our level.

  
Our level.

  
You see, Tom didn't live in reality. Not really. He lived on another plane of existence, this strange place that didn't go anywhere, and was just there. He lived in between everything. He saw every side of every story he's ever heard and sympathized with every creature. He can feel the heartbeat of the Earth in his fingertips and feel the way she breathes beneath his feet. When he closed his eyes, I could see it. Not what he say, but I could see that he saw something more than nothing. He lived on in a whole new planet. A planet where you could accept your insignificance in the universe, and at the same time, not. He knew his place, and it was small. He knew he was alone in his way of thinking, not many were like him, and he was okay with that. Not even I could understand what he thought.

  
In all honesty, I thought he was a stoner.

  
He seemed like the kind of guy to just smoke a lot of pot, shoot up heroine, do lots of drugs and stuff. Not that I might know anything about that, ha. Sometimes, he and I just sat around, shooting the shit and smoking pot, getting high. Not even then could I have ever understood his way of thinking.

  
He just lived in between. His thoughts were wild and upside down. So abstract and queer, compared to the thoughts that we're programmed to have. He understood animals and why we, as humanity, are worse than them. Humanity, according to him, is the scum of the Earth. And he spoke those words with this bittersweet tone. He thinks that way because we kill each other for greed. We do it for land, money, power. Animals do that, too, but they do it to survive. They might not have to if it weren't for humanity. Humanity decided it was okay to enslave ourselves, our own species, because some had skin darker than others. They consciously made the choice and said, 'their skin is darker, let's disregard the fact that these creatures are very much human, and enslave them for no reason because we're dicks'. I wouldn't disagree.

Tom didn't believe in love, either. Not romantically, at least. He took a more... Scientific perspective on love.   
"Love is a chemical reaction in your brain that happens when you don't want to be alone."

  
His exact words.

  
He wasn't wrong.

  
If that's what love was, then I guess I didn't want to be alone.

  
Tom sat around thinking a lot. He'd space out in the middle of a conversation he didn't like and suddenly had an epiphany. But he didn't have this look on his face when he did. He just thought it, and it was there, and it existed, now, and that was that.

  
I guess that's what I was to him.

  
I wasn't much.

  
I just existed, and I was there, and that was it.

  
Maybe he enjoyed my company, even a little, or he didn't. I don't think he was quite indifferent, though he begs to differ. I think he and I had a different kind of relationship, one that wasn't normal. One where we didn't show care for each other by kisses and cuddles and superficial 'I love you's. Mostly because we weren't dating. Never officially. No, our relationship went more like this: He says something, then I make fun of him for stumbling over his words the way he does, or because he said something stupid, or whatever. Then, he rolls his eyes and says something back, and we begin to playfully bicker. Edd can't stand it, and Matt watches like a wrestling match, so determined to see the winner of the fight, even though we didn't fight.

  
Of course, Tom and I fought. All the time. Sometimes verbally, sometimes physically. When Tom and I fought physically, it was so weird. I never thought someone as scrawny as him would have been a perfect match for my moves, but he was. We fought so perfectly. He throws a punch. I grab his arm. He twists around my body, and hits me at what he knows is the weakest point in any humans body: the back of the ribcage. I get the wind knocked out of me and fall on the floor. He wins.

  
Maybe he'd sit on me to prove his point, or something, but he wins.   
It seemed so effortless, too. Like, he didn't even break a sweat.

  
I'm losing track of my thoughts.

  
I don't know a whole lot about Tom. I never did. I still don't, and I fear I never will. I do know a few things.

He's so smart. His mind is so beautiful sometimes, and I want to see what goes on inside his head. If he'd just say whatever was on his mind all the time, maybe I'd get it. I don't know. Even then, probably not. But his brain is so magnificent. I love it. I love thinking about it. I'm utterly infatuated with him and his way of thinking.

  
Another thing I know about Tom: he's not human. Not in his mind. I think that he doesn't even think he's human. I'm not quite sure what he thinks he is, below or above humanity, but he's not human. No human would have the thoughts he did. His emotional intelligence and his patience to think about both or all sides of the equation is not something a human might do. He was on a different level. It was like magic, watching him work things out in his head.

True beauty lay in his mind.

  
Tom lives in an abstract world, where nothing happens, not really. But at the same time, everything happens, all at once in on fluid, uncontrollable motion. His head is unfiltered, raw intelligence and competence, and at the same time, completely and incredibly stupid. The level of incomprehensible nonsense that he does, says, or thinks about is imeasureable, and I love it. He disguises his competence as general and nonsensical stupidity, so that he is underestimated and then he can overpower his opponent. It's amazing.

He's wonderful and I love him for it.

 

 

 

 

 


	17. A New Character

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tord, in Tom's eyes.

  
I remember him. 

  
He was a guy, and he was there.

  
He lived and he breathed. 

  
I saw him, and I touched him, and he saw me, and we did things. He and I breathed together and we made obscure sounds with our mouths and our eyelids opened and closed to moisten the eyes beneath them. There was almost no better way to word that sentence, but it happened.

  
Our lungs pushed air out and pulled it in, and my hands made movements at my front and sides, and his lips were moving, but I couldn't quite hear him, or maybe I just don't remember what he said. It was probably the latter. He talked to me and I pretended to listen while I stared at a face created by the heavens. He was a handsome bloke, for sure. I just didn't know why. 

  
His nose was quite a bit off, terribly crooked, but I feel like that added character. His eyes were grey, which fell perfectly on the grey scale with mine being black. His hair was odd and I didn't quite get it, or why it made horns, but mine stuck up similarly, so I guessed I didn't have much room to talk about things such as those. 

  
His lips were thin, with pearls behind them, shiny white teeth, unlike mine, which weren't well taken care of, and were slightly yellowing at the gums. I should take better care of them. His hands were in his pockets and put he pulled a cigar. I thought about cigars and how cigarettes were like the dudettes of the tobacco world, even thought they weren't thought of in that manner. His cigars might've been Cuban, but I don't know. I've never been too terrible a fan of cigars. I mostly stuck to fags, myself, because they were easier and tended to be cheaper. Drugstore cigars weren't that good.

Drugstore anything isn't that good, ever. 

  
Compared to him, I'm a drugstore pack of Marlboros and he's a Cuban cigar. Or I a worn, stringy violin bass that's been overused and in dire need of new strings, and he a beautiful, brand new grand piano. I felt self conscious when I was near him for a good while. Then I remembered that it didn't matter, and I felt better, and simultaneously worse. 

  
I think he thinks I'm goofy. I think he thinks I'm weird. I think he sort of thinks I might be a genius. I think he thinks he wants to understand me. I think he knows I'm alone. 

  
I believe that he looks at me and thinks I know everything. But I don't, and I know that. Just because I know how black holes are formed and because I know how to properly execute a joke doesn't mean I know everything. But I want to. I have a thirst for knowledge that I know only he understands. I want to know everything. I want to know the truth. I want to know the meaning. 

I know that if I know the meaning of life, then it won't need to exist anymore, it won't have meaning any longer. I still want to pursue the meaning of life. 

  
Back to him. 

  
His muscular body was nice. 

  
It was strange to touch; my body was stringy and squishy. His was pretty solid. It was hard to discern whether I liked it or not. I probably did. It was probably nice. I don't remember, so I wouldn't know. His hair was soft and smooth, while mine was wily and unkempt. A proper genius, huh? He had himself together, while I didn't know who I was. 

  
I didn't know everything, but I did know him.

  
He was tall and strong and smooth. He was together and grounded and smart and loud and obnoxious and weird and quirky and brand spanking new. A whole new object on my planet that I didn't understand. I couldn't quite tell if he was one of the many that belonged in the group of people that didn't understand, or if he should join the club of those who wanted to, or the ones who did. No one was in the last one. But he fell in the middle. He wanted to understand. That club had two people, then. Edd and him. Matt belonged in the first one. Matt didn't belong in my planet. Neither did Edd, or even he. No one belonged here because my poisonous atmosphere would kill your optimism and strangle your will to live, then as a finishing blow, break your self esteem and throw you off of the planet in pieces. 

  
I am poison, and I love him. 


	18. You Made Me Come Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ∆GORE WARNING∆
> 
> I woulda posted this as a story by itself, but I didn't wanna hafta do all that junk that comes with it, and it might need some editing, but here
> 
> Three updates in one day?
> 
> Score.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the spacing is weird, my computer is broken and I probably won't get a new one until after new years
> 
> The last three WIPs/Updates have been on my goddamn kindle and I hate this thing, jfc
> 
> Bear with me, guys gals and nooby pals

It didn't happen instantly.

It happened over the course of a few days.

Well, not really.

If you think about it, it had been building up inside of him for weeks, months, maybe even years.

Tom was as broken as broken could get.

His smile was chapped, you could see the cracks he was falling through. His dark eyes were so sad and lonely. Of only someone knew, all he wanted was for someone to tell him it would be okay. That he was okay.

But no one ever did.

Edd liked to poke fun at him, sometimes.

Tom stumbled over his words frequently and often forgot things and tripped over his own two feet and was generally a clumsy clusterfuck of emotions. Edd called him an idiot, and Tom shrugged and agreed. He was pretty dumb, sometimes, really. He drank, and that certainly didn't help the situation. When he was drunk, he often got spooked by his own reflection.

Tord teased him for a lot of things, really. Tord made fun of Tom's big nose, not that he had much room to talk, but he still did it. He made fun of how small Tom was, and how slutty he acted, sometimes. Sometimes, Tom laughed. Other times, he stayed silent and he shrugged it off. But it was those silent times that would really get him.

Tom would think about those things in the middle of the night, and called himself a whore. He'd think about how clumsy he was, and that everything he did was a mistake. He thought about how he had trouble speaking, sometimes, even when he was sober, and figured that he was just stupid. He often couldn't see things that were right in front of him. He was so stupid. He wasn't worthy of friends like Edd and Tord and Matt. They were too good to be friends with some dumb slut like him.

Sometimes, he'd cry about it.

When he did, he called himself weak. He was just some stupid, whore who had no handle on his emotions or his life. Just a dumb slut. He'd pull his hair and grit his teeth. He didn't feel human. He wasn't human.

He wasn't real.

He didn't matter.

"Nobody loves me." He said, standing all alone in the middle of the hallway. No one was around. They were all gone. Where did they go? Tom didn't know. He looked around slowly. There was red everywhere. Was that blood? Wow, that was a lot of blood. He looked around some more and then saw the bodies. Wow. Did he do this? No wonder nobody loves him. He was terrible. "You're terrible." One said. "Look what you've done!" Another said. "This is why nobody loves you." They kept talking. "No one loves you because you're terrible." Tom blinked.

They were right.

"You don't matter to him." Someone said. Tom tensed up. "You never mattered to him. Even if you love him, he'll never care about you." Tom looked at his hands. "And if he did, he certainly doesn't, now." The voices cackled in his head, loud and high in his ears. His ears rung. He couldn't hear anything other than them. He knew how to stop this.

He had to die.

He deserved to die.

Someone came down the hallway. Tom didn't notice them at first. "Holy shit." The voice said. Tom looked at the person, his knees wobbly and his hands making their way to cover his ears. He looked at this person. He could barely make out a face. He didn't know who it was. His goggles were going crazy, he couldn't see. He lunged at the figure, going for their throat. He pinned them to the floor and screamed. "You deserve to die!" He yelled, tear brimming his eyes. He slammed their head into the floor until more red showed. More and more red. Lot's of red.

It was always red, wasn't it?

He stared at the red for a very long time. He reached out to touch it. The pool rippled. He whimpered and brought his blood-soaked hand to his face. He wiped his hand on his cheek and licked the excess blood off. He cried, knowing he didn't deserve Tord.

Tord was walking down the hall to give Tom his next assignment when he heard a strange sound. A loud thumping sound. Kind of like someone stomping on the floor over and over. What was going on? He walked faster and peered around the corner. He almost vomited at the sight before him. Tom had his hands around a soldier he recognized as Yuu's neck, and was slamming his head into the floor over and over. Covering a whole segment of the hallway was blood. So much blood.

There were at least four bodies on the ground. One soldier had his whole stomach ripped open, and his intestines spilled out on the floor. A woman had her chest clawed open and her heart was shoved in her mouth. Someone had a glass bottle shoved in their neck. Someone else had their throat ripped open. Tom stopped slamming Yuu's head into the floor. Tord noticed he was crying. He was covered in blood.

Tom grabbed his head and screamed. There was blood in his hair and on his teeth. He hunched over, screaming. Yuu was dead. There were bits of brain matter littering the floor around his head. Tom didn't seem go notice he was dead and grabbed his throat anyways. He began to claw at it, digging his hands into Yuu's breathless throat until blood showed. He ripped out a part of Yuu's spine and shoved it inside of Yuu's own mouth. The entire time Tom did so, he screamed.

Paul and Patrick appeared by Tord's side. They looked horrified at the sight before them. Without warning, Paul ran in to rip Tom off of Yuu's corpse. Tom struggled and flailed, snarling and biting and screaming. Paul restrained his arms and struggled to keep him down while Tom growled and strained himself, trying to get free. Tord watched in horror.

  
Tom managed to get free and Tord jumped back, grabbing Patrick by the arm. Paul scrambled backwards, pulling out his gun and brandishing it before him in case he needed to shoot. But he did not. Instead, Tom grabbed his head and laughed hysterically.

Listening to this kind of laughter was like trying to find the rhythm in nails on chalkboard. You just can't do it. Tord felt like his mind was shattering and his ears felt as if they were bleeding from the shrill laughter. Patrick looked to Tord, horror evident on his features.

  
Tord kept his eye glued to Tom, never taking it off of him. Tom slowly stopped laughing, and straightened himself up, still on his knees on the floor. He looked to Tord with his visor. Tom put his left hand on his face. "Am I human, now?" He asked, his voice cracking. Tord furrowed his brows. "What?" He asked, almost stepping closer, but Patrick grabbed his arm to keep him from doing so. He knew just how dangerous Tom was right now. Tom chuckled. "Do I count, now?" His smile began to falter, and his hand slipped from his face. From under his visor came big, black, bubble tears. His smile went down a little at the corners. Tord was so confused.

  
Tom killed these people.

  
Why?

  
Why was he doing this?

  
What caused him to act this way?

  
This wasn't Tom.

  
Tom's smile turned upside down, and he clenched his teeth as more black tears fell down his face. "Do you care, now!?" Tom yelled, one hand grabbing his chest while the other desperately clawed at his throat and mouth, making loud, animalistic sounds. "Do I deserve it, now!?" His teeth became sharper and his true thoughts began to show, albeit cryptically. Tom was going insane.  
Tord furrowed his brows further and for once, had no idea what the hell he should do. How did he fix this? There wasn't any way he could think of that would make it all better. Tom killed these people. Their blood was on his hands and no matter how much bleach, Oxiclean or commercial soap he used, it could never be taken back. It would never come off.

  
"Deserve what?" Tord asked. Tom laughed again, this time harder. He grabbed his face again and cried as he cackled so maniacally. "To die!" He screeched as he fell to his side, rolling on his back and continuing to grab his face and give that Godawful laugh. Tord couldn't have been anymore shocked if he woke up with his head sewn to the carpet. Tom did deserve to die, Tord thought. He killed these people, he deserves the death penalty in a fair trial, right? Well, not if he was insane. If he plead insanity, he would be sent to an asylum, where doctors would try to get him better so that he could have another trial, then either go to prison, or get served the death penalty, depending on the charges.

Tord's thoughts were going a mile a minute and he couldn't keep track of them. 

He was panicking.

  
Tom cackled on the floor, flailing on the ground and writhing in the blood spilled. Tord frowned deeply. It hurt to see this. It hurt so badly to see someone he cared about so much, just deteriorate and snap right before his very eyes. It stung. This was like his karma for what he did to get here. Tord looked at the cybernetic arm on his right side. This had to be the Universe's way of saying, "screw you," after everything he's done. This was his fault.

  
Tom's maniacal smile faltered again, and he began to sob. It was a series of loud, pathetic gasps and big, tar coloured bubble tears coming from Tom as his writhings on the floor came to an end. In the midst of his breakdown, he said, "This is why nobody loves you." Tord didn't know who Tom was talking to, but it still broke his heart to hear words like that come from Tom.


	19. Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [I don't know what this next chapter is, just an idea I may add onto later.]

He sat underneath the tree, quietly reading a book by himself. 

 

He was new, so that meant that he was practically irresistible. 

 

He turned the page in the paperback novel, darkened eyes contentedly scanning the page. 

 

It was almost as if he shouldn't have ever been disturbed. Like he belonged there, underneath that tree. It was the only thing that he should have ever been doing, the only place he belonged. 

 

However, boys will be boys. 

 

The young boy watching the reading child ran up under the tree. The reading boy was left undisturbed. In his hand, the intruder held a worm. He showed it to the reading boy by putting the worm onto his book. 

 

Startled, the reading boy blinked. His lips parted for a second in surprise, but they didn't have the strength to say anything. The blank eyes of the child looked up to the boy who interrupted his reading sessions. He blinked. The boy in front of him had warm sand for his hair- no, it was more like the colour of the insides of peaches. Peach-coloured hair. He had pearls in his mouth with a little pink snake inside. He briefly wondered what that meant- to have a snake in your mouth. The boy in front of him smiled. 

 

"Do you think if you cut the worm in half," He knelt down in front of the dark-eyed boy as he spoke with a heavy accent. "It will make two worms?" The dark eyed boy frowned. He didn't know what to say. He wondered if he should get the boy away from him, but was unsure. He didn't know what to do, was almost overwhelmed by the peach-coloured boy in front of him. 

 

He couldn't speak. 

 

Not in the sense that he was frozen in shock or fear, though. He just couldn't speak. He didn't know what to do about this other being who was talking to him, when he couldn't talk back. Even worse, the boy in front of him probably didn't know that he couldn't speak. He was too sick to talk. Suddenly, his mother returned to him, sitting on the plaid blanket next to him, under the tree. 

 

"Who's your friend?" She looked at the foreign boy kindly. The new boy looked at the other boy's mother, holding out his hand. 

 

"I'm Tord!" He beamed brightly. He looked at the other boy. "What's your name?" The boy showed the pearls in his teeth and the snake in his mouth. The other boy was silent, but made motions with his hands. His mother spoke up for him. "This is Tom," Her voice was like the harpoons that slaughtered the whales of the sea. "He can't speak." The peach-haired boy, Tord, made a face. "Why not?" His mother smiled sadly at Tom and petted his hair softly. Tom looked indifferent to her affections. "He's too sick to." Tord cocked his head to the side. "How sick is he?" He sat down and looked at Tom. 

 

"He can't go to school." 

 

 

 

 

 


	20. Working Title

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Tom loses his legs in a car accident.]

"It started a year ago." He said, hands in his lap. 

"A car accident?" The man across from him asked for confirmation.

"I wasn't exactly sober when I was driving home, that night, and drove off a cliff. My legs were trapped underneath the car, and I couldn't move. I called for help, over and over, but no one came for over thirty minutes." His voice was quiet and dull. He looked down at his knees as he spoke, hands making small motions.

"The car soon caught fire, and I barely made it out alive." He looked up for a split second, before nervously looking back down.

Picanni, listened intently. "That's when you had your 'realization'?" He asked. Tom shook his head. 

"No, that was when I was in a coma." Picanni nodded, waiting for Tom to go on. "When I was in a coma, I had this strange dream." He moved his hands as he recalled the wild world of his dreams. "Do you remember it, at all?" "Not really." Tom perked up a little bit. "Well, I remember one part, specifically." Picanni leaned in. "And what is that?" Tom took a deep breath in and used his hands as if to gesture to the invisible word. 

"Why." 

His voice was cut short and to the point, and he deadpanned. 

"Why?" Picanni furrowed his brows in confusion. "What does that mean, 'why'?" Tom shrugged, looking indifferent. "Why?" He asked in reply. "Why, what?" Picanni sat his clipboard on his lap, leaning on his elbows. "That's just it," Tom sat in the same position. "Why, everything?" He looked at Picanni very seriously. "I don't understand, Tom." "I know." Tom looked down at his lap again, a defeated expression on his face. "No one does, not really."

Picanni, feeling as if he was losing his client, picked up his clipboard again. "Do you think you could elaborate on 'why'?" He said, pushing the glasses up his pert nose. Tom shrugged. "I guess," He said. "I'll sound insane, though." He gave a bitter laugh. "Oh, you have no idea the things I've heard." Picanni replied, smirking. Tom raised his brows. 

"When I mean why, I don't see it as a question." Tom said, staring off into space to his left, moving his hands more. "Is it a statement?" Picanni asked. Tom shook his head. "It's an answer." He looked Picanni in the eye. "To what?" Picanni stared back, unafraid of Tom's dark, dangerous eyes; he even dared them to bring up the questions Tom never asked. "To a question that no one has ever definitely answered." Picanni leaned in. "Go on," He urged. 

"What is the meaning of life?" He replied. 

Picanni raised a brow. "Your answer to a question is another question?" Tom nodded. "I think that if we knew the meaning of life, it would lose it's purpose; what makes it special." Picanni listened. "So, why do we want to know? Will knowing make us seem smarter? Will it give you a new purpose? Probably not." Picanni leaned back. "Well," He said. "I've never thought about it that way before." Tom smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. His face was a little pink. 

"What, not used to sharing things like this?" Tom's blank eyes flicked back to Picanni. "Uh, no," He pursed his lips a little. "Not really." He looked at the floor. Picanni chucked. "That's okay, Tom," He said, writing something on his clipboard. He decided to give Tom a little self confidence in his thinking. "The way you think is..." He struggled to find a word. "Weird?" Tom suggested, smiling nervously. "No," Picanni said, frowning. "It's certainly queer." He decided. Tom arched a brow. "Oh?" He replied, curious on Picanni's elaboration. 

"By that, I mean, it's weird." He shrugged. Tom laughed. "But not bad-weird." He corrected himself, so as to not lose Tom's weekly self-confidence build. "It's, well, it's awesome." He grinned widely. "I've never really had a patient who thought like that before." He walked over to sit next to Tom. Tom knew this part, and was slowly growing more and more embarrassed by the second. Picanni noticed his shyness to this part, but knew that deep, deep down, Tom kind of enjoyed it. 

Picanni wrapped an arm around Tom and leaned in close. Tom pursed his lips, turning away. "Awe, c'mon, Tom," Picanni said, grinning. "You were doing so great, why'd you crawl back in your shell?" Tom's face turned pinker. He bowed in his shoulders. "I don't- I-I guess I'm not- I just don't-?" He had trouble articulating his words. His expression became more and more filled with anxiety. Picanni noticed his discomfort and gently brought Tom into his chest, rocking him back and forth a little bit, knowing that comforted him. 

"You're weird." Tom said, trapped within the soothing arms of his therapist. "No, I just care about you." Picanni closed his eyes and stated this defiantly. 

Picanni was rather energetic and empathetic. He really did care about people. He was too nice, and the world didn't deserve someone so good. Tom frowned. 

"Okay," He replied, nervous. Tom didn't really know how to respond to affection. Picanni laughed. 

On that note, Picanni decided today's session was over. He helped Tom up and gave him his cane, showing him the door. "See you next week, Tom!" He smiled brightly. 

Tom gave Picanni a small wave goodbye as he walked to the entrance of the building, where Edd would be parked in his car. Tom saw Edd and made his way over, opening the door and climbing inside. "Hey," Tom said, struggling a little bit, but not too much. "How was therapy?" Edd asked. Tom shrugged. "Same ole, same ole," He said. "Picanni is weird." He said. "Awe, but he's a good guy, he means well." Edd smiled and began to drive. Tom shrugged. "Well, yeah," he replied, shrugging. "He's still weird, though." Edd didn't disagree.


	21. S C U M (Pre-Draft)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've had this idea in my drafts for a while, and since I don't have the motivation to finish it, I'll put it here.

He sauntered with this disgusted elegance, a sort of swagger in his step, awe-inspiring to anyone around him. 

He didn't walk with confidence in his wake. He walked with this broken aura of addiction and the look on his face would tell you that he ran away from home when he was a kid. His hips swayed from side to side in a sultry manner, his hands poised by his sides. He was anything but delicate. He didn't have a heart, and could stray emotionally from anything he wanted. He didn't care. The way he looked at the bigoted people who observed the movements of his long legs told you that he just didn't have the emotional capacity to care. He was so broken that he'd rather blow someone than say thank you. 

His long hair covered one of his eyes, but only part of the time. It was shaved on the underside, but it flipped around all the time and made it look like he had a full head of hair that cascaded over his shoulders. Edd said he was sleeping with the professor. There was nothing about him that said he wasn't. The way he walked, the way he talked. Sometimes his voice was scratchy in the morning, and several people around his dorm claimed to hear sexual noises all night. He appeared to be a screamer. 

In short, everyone knew he was a slut. 

He spent his time sleeping around at parties, getting wasted and forgetting about his problems far more than the average college student. It was a bit worrying. The only reason he even seemed to be passing was because he was sleeping with all of his teachers. He needn't worry about his grades. He could just suck, fuck and crawl on his hands and knees to save himself. 

In all honesty, he seemed like a whore. He kind of seemed like he deserved it. No one would be surprised if he had an STD or two, with his behaviour. He was disgusting. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. 

The bags under his eyes and the worry lines on his forehead would tell you that he's seen some shit. Yet, he still walked with his head held high, and his shoulders squared. He was tall and lean, almost scarily skinny. But he could hold his own. Everyone's seen if before. He could fight. Everyone wondered what happened to him. What made him like this? What made him sleep around so much? How did he learn to fight like that? He was mysterious. You'd hear him scream your name in ecstasy before you knew anything more about him than his name. 

Thomas Rosewood. 

He was scum in every sense of the word. A disgusting bottom feeder of society. He was horrible. He got wasted and then laid, woke up with a hangover, rinse and repeat. He walked with anything but confidence, but he didn't care. He was so broken, that there was no point in caring. He didn't care what they thought, he didn't care what he thought. He didn't care about himself, or anyone else. 

He was fucked up. 

But God, was he pretty. 

He had a thin pair of lips, bright pink and standing out against his pale face and darkened eyes. His long hair would cover various parts of his face, and he'd look incredibly feminine. Perhaps that was part of the appeal? The teachers he slept with had wives and children, and they claimed not to be gay, but when they saw Tom, they just couldn't help themselves. It was horribly wrong. They all knew it. But Tom was just so beautiful. 

His lithe body was so thin and perfect. It was aesthetically pleasing, albeit incredibly unhealthy. But Tom didn't care. He didn't mind the way his body looked, as long as it got him laid. By the time he'd been at the school for a month, he'd probably slept with the whole lacrosse team already, and then some. He claimed to be a switch, most times, but he definitely gave off more bottom vibes, when it came down to it. 

Maybe it was an addiction? 

He probably had some sort of mental illness, or two. Depression, maybe. Alcoholism? Probably. Sex addiction? Definitely. 

He was an unhealthy person who was sure to die before he was thirty, never make an impact on society, never have kids, have few shitty friends who wouldn't care all that much about his death, and then he'd be forgotten within a week. That was just the life of a person like Tom. But Tom didn't care. He was too damaged, too busy not caring. 

To be frank, Tom pissed Tord off. 

Tom seemed happy this way, happy not caring, not taking care of himself, and living his life the way he did. Tord couldn't stand it. Tom's seen some shit, clearly, he was fucked up, addicted, oh, what was that saying? Young, dumb and full of...

Scum. 

Tom was revolting, to Tord. Sure, he was pretty, but his personality was shit. He was only good for a one-night-stand or two, and that's it. He'd probably die by suicide by the time he turned twenty-five. 

Tord never knew why Edd hung around him. Tom clearly didn't, either. Tom knew he was a piece of shit. At least he had the humanity to acknowledge his bullshittery, unlike most people. At least he knew he was disgusting. And he knew that Tord hated him. Tord hated Tom. Tord knew Tom knew that he hated him. Tom didn't care that Tord hated him. Tord hated that Tom didn't care that he hated him. Tord just hated Tom so much, that he'd often bring it up in casual conversation. Tom even laughed along with him, breaking the obvious tension in the air and often commenting that it was okay, because he hated himself, too. 

Nobody really liked Tom. 

Tord suspected that Edd hung around him out of pity. Matt was indifferent to him, and Tord hated him. Tord didn't even know why Tom went to hang around them, really. So, he asked Tom why. Tom shrugged. 

"'Cause," He'd said. "It pisses you off." 

He later learned that Tom was lying. 

Tom was a liar. He was a liar, and a piece of shit, and nothing but a moldy piece of scum on the wall of a gas station bathroom. 

He was toxic, and poisonous, and crude. His manners were nonexistent. If Tord acted at home the way Tom acted pretty much everywhere, Tord would have gotten his ass beat. And it taught him to be a good person. Tom was just unmannered trash from the streets, and often thought about kicking Tom from the group himself. He was pleased with the thought of Tom going back to the back allies and dirty streets, where scum like him belonged. 

Tord one day took it upon himself to tell Tom off. To tell him to stay away from his friends, and to never talk to them again. He was hoping to put the fear of God in him, but all Tom did was give a despondent 'okay', and then he walked back to his dorm. 

The next day, there were more reports of Tom being noisy in his apartment. God, what a slut. Tord was glad to finally have a day without him. 

But Tom stopped coming to his classes. Tord didn't care. He stopped seeing Tom for two weeks. It was nice, actually. 

Maybe Tom quit college and realized that he should have just been some trashy pornstar, or a prostitute instead. The thought of Tom leaving, living back in the streets where he belonged pleased him greatly. He was glad that Tom was gone. He didn't care about him, he didn't like him. 

Nobody liked Tom. 

Edd and Matt only partially questioned where Tom had gone. Tord shrugged the questions off, but he knew that they knew that he had something to do with it. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom can't sleep.

Tom sat in his room in the middle of the night. Gentle music played through his headphones and he couldn't help but feel guilty. His best friend was just warning him that day that he'd needed to get some more sleep, and yet, here he was, practically shitting on his wishes. Edd only wanted to help, for Tom to be a bit more healthy with his habits, but all he could do was give a big, fat fuck you to him.   
  
He'd tried, though. He's so tired, and he tried to get some sleep, but his body wouldn't stop itching, and he couldn't get his brain to calm down enough to actually get some rest. He couldn't be like most people and 'fake it 'till you make it' when it came to sleep. He just couldn't. He didn't know why, he didn't know what was wrong with him. He just wanted some sleep, but the nightmares kept him up some nights, and other nights, he just couldn't find it in him to sleep, no matter how tired he was. He felt so guilty. He was a bad friend, wasn't he?  
  
He was so bad. The worst. And not in the good way, he was just plain bad. A bad influence, a bad friend, a bad person. He was just full of bad. He was so full of bad that his insides were hot and rotten and anyone who dared sift through them would become just as cruel and mean as he was, and there was no fixing it. There was no fixing him.   
  
How could he become so horrible? How could he care so deeply for his friends, but throw their worries out the door when they were just trying to help? He just felt like he was shooting angels at this point, and he'll burn forever in Hell for that. He was horrible, and he probably deserved it. He wouldn't stop the hellhounds on his trail when they finally caught up to him to take him away.   
  
It seemed like the angels all around him were starving. He was supposed to feed them, care for them. They were his responsibility, and yet he was just feeding himself. He was drinking poison, shoving that sludge down his throat and tearing up his insides even more. His liver was the hardest working thing on the planet, no man could ever work as hard.   
  
Even Tord at this point seemed to care about him and his health. He talked about how he was too skinny, needed to eat more, and how he should stop drinking because he was destroying his body. Tord was no health nut, but Tom had to admit that he had a point. By the time he died, there'd be nothing left to burn or bury because he'd just wasted himself away with burning water by feeding himself and not the angels around him.   
  
He should instead set them free. He was starving them and bleeding them out and hanging them up to dry. He's just keeping their corpses around so that he doesn't feel so lonely, and yet, when he's around them all, he's never felt more alone. He could do nothing but watch them die and wait. Wait for his sins to catch up to him and take him down, down, down. His sins will drag him down until he hit fire and he will burn.   
  
He will burn eternally.   
  
The worst part was that Tom hadn't cried when he killed those angels. He killed them, and he felt nothing. He was too numb and full of rot to notice how they'd died, to care for their suffering, and that was horrible. He was horrible. No amount of relentless dark humour would ever repay for what he's done. He could never repent for his sins, and he'll die alone and cold and full of rotting heat inside of him, and by the time the walking corpses he called his friends found him, there would be nothing left of him. There would be nothing left to talk to, touch or love. By then, he'd be so empty that he'd just let himself die.   
  
His friends were so much better than him. That's why they were angels, and why he was going to burn forever.   
  
Tom stayed in his bed for what could have been hours, but he wasn't sure. He didn't know. He wasn't counting anymore, he didn't care. All he knew is that one minute it was dark, and the next, it was less dark. It seemed like he'd stayed up until dawn, and he was watching the sun slowly rise.   
  
He liked this part of the day. It seemed so calm and nice, and it filled with a feeling of either nostalgia or something he couldn't quite place, he wasn't sure. Maybe he felt content when he saw that light. It was so nice. He just wanted to feel good again, and this part of the day gave him hope.   
  
He heard a sort of commotion through his calm music and gently took off one of his headphones, though he didn't bother to turn his head that much. He tuned into the sound and found it was probably footsteps. The walls of the house weren't too thin, but Tom had his bedroom door slightly ajar, so he wasn't blocked from the noise too much.   
  
It was probably Tord. Out of all the angels in this house, Tord was the one who got up the earliest, for God knows what reason. It was probably around five am, that's when Tord woke up. He heard the fluttering, quiet footsteps near his door, and they stopped. He didn't turn his head, but he thought he saw Tord looking into his room out of the corner of his eye. Tom didn't question it. Then, the footsteps passed, and went into the kitchen. Tom knew this because Tord had already went to the bathroom, and he'd heard noises from the kitchen a few seconds later.   
  
Tom sighed, and listened into the noise, thankful for the silence. It sounded so nice for some reason. He was getting so tired of the music, anyways, his head was getting somehow overloaded, and he was getting to the point where he wanted to scream and flail his body. He hated when he felt like that, it was horrible. He tuned into the sounds coming from the kitchen, and smelled bacon. As per usual. It smelled nice. Tom didn't eat that much anymore, and sometimes needed to be reminded how much he liked food, and how nice it was. It was just hard to drown out the usual feeling of hunger in his stomach. He was more used to that, and didn't like feeling full because the feeling was so unnfamiliar. It was bad, and when he was full, he felt bad. He felt worse.   
  
Part of him wanted to go downstairs and actually get some water for once, his mouth was dry and his tongue was doing that thing where it dried out and cracked up because he slept with it open because, no matter what, his nose was always stuffed up and he hated it. He wanted to breathe normally at night, but for some reason, he found that he couldn't, and that was just another thing on the list of things wrong with him.


	23. Liquid Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cleaning, cleaning, cleaning. Always cleaning up and up and up. Oh, the curse of liquid love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's something I've had in my drafts for a while. It's my extended A/B/O verse, A/B/O/D/E, but that's not a huge part of the story.

I can't remember when it started.

All I know is that it happened, and now I'm full. Absolutely full. Filled to that god-forsaken-brim that I'd always hated I had. I wished I had more room. Because when I starts to flood, it all spills over. It spills over from my brim, and it goes everywhere, filling up all the other little spaces I have left, and even when I think I've dried it all up with my flimsy, soaking paper-towels, I find pockets of it, entire little hidden pockets just living there, breeding more and more to just spill out and over.

Sometimes, it gets so full so quietly that I don't realize, I doesn't even know that it's getting so full, and it starts to rot. It starts from the inside out, rotting everything in it's path and giving it that kind of dull ache when you touch it that feels like touching an infected cut or scrape, or a nasty, old bruise. I don't know what to do with it, then, it's just so... Bad. Everything feels bad and I don't know what to do with it or why it feels like this, so I just dive down into something worse, something for me to soak up that will dry out the spillage for a while, even if it would likely just make it worse, later. I'm just too full.

Full of... Feeling.

Repression. Emotion I don't know how to deal with, because every time I've tried to, I've failed. Miserably. I guess I thought that if I'm going to be the spawn of a creature so terrible, I should act like it. Like mother, like son. I guess the apple doesn't fall that far from the tree, now, does it?

I don't want to tell my friends about it, because they'd probably laugh at me and tell me I'm being too sensitive, or that I'm just being overdramatic. I know that I could use their help, but I feel like that would expose bits of me to them I don't want them to see, because that would mean they'd see just what how I really feel about a lot of things, and I don't want that. I'd have to give up all my secrets in order to get help to dry up all the flooding, but secrets are all I have left, so I just cleaned it up myself.

Besides, it wasn't so bad, cleaning it up myself. I could just get over myself by doing this. Cleaning was nice, sometimes, relaxing. I didn't have to think as long as I knew what to do with my body. Once one bit was clean and dry, I'll move onto the next until my heart is dry again, and there's no more love to clean up and throw away.

Of course, I'm not really 'throwing away' the love. I don't know what happens to the excess once I get rid of it, but I hope it doesn't get stuck someplace like those annoying pockets that breed hate and self-loathing and anger. I don't want to be angry. When I get angry, I feel sick, like I'm vomiting, like my body is purging itself of things it doesn't need, all the bad feelings and things I haven't known how to say until I let it blow up. That would sound kinda good, but it's not, because when I do that, people get hurt. My friends get hurt. I get hurt.

I'm a mess of a person.

I was doing a bit more of my routine cleaning when I'd flooded myself last night by accident, when I decided that I'd clean the rest up later because right then, I was hungry. I was laying in bed, wearing a black t-shirt and my checkered boxers, my body half-contained by the comforter on my bed. I felt warm and safe, like I'd always wanted to be, but decided that eating was more important than warmth, so I got up and stretched, groaning and my joints popping as I did.

I got up from my bed, rubbing my face dryly. I felt like I looked haggard. I probably look like one of those stereotypical Epsilons most of the time, but now it's worse because I look tired and poor and probably gross. 

I opened my bedroom door and walked down the hallway of the house I inhabited with my friends. I found Edd in the kitchen, reading something on his phone and eating slices of bacon while he did so, and Matt, who was drinking coffee, also scrolling through something on his phone. The red-head let out a snort at something he found funny, and greeted me as he looked up. "Good morning, Tom!" Matt said, his star-speckled face glowing in the morning sunlight from the kitchen window. He was a stereotypical Beta, but he smelled really sweet. He was tall, too, like a Delta, but didn't smell quite right for it.

Edd looked up, his lively, dopey eyes and that honey-sweet smile appearing when he did. "Morning, mate," Edd said. He was the head alpha of the house, a giant at over 182 centimetres. But his size shouldn't fool someone, he's generally pretty nice, albeit a prankster asshole. "You look haggard." He commented, taking a piece of bacon off of the plate in front of him and taking a bite. I rolled my eyes at the insult, knowing that it was all in good fun. "You're one to talk, mister-too-busy-drawing-to-get-sleep." I scoffed in reply, making note of the dark bags under Edd's brown eyes. Edd laughed and went back to his phone.

Then, there was him.

Tord.

Tord, in the kitchen, wearing an ironically-unironic frilly apron and his favourite smirk, sharpened to points at the ends of his cheeks. They could pierce you easily, slit your throat. So sharp, you won't feel a thing. He was like some sort of Alpha-Adonis, honestly. His grey eyes had a special tint to them that one couldn't describe, but it was something like seeing a shooting star, or catching a glimpse of some sort of cryptid in the forest. His diamond-cutter jaw moved as he chewed a piece of the bacon that he'd cooked, and I walked past him, making to open the fridge because there was no way in Hell that he was going to share any of that bacon with anyone but Edd, and even that was a stretch. Edd probably had to make his own bacon. Hell, they probably had to buy separate packages of bacon to each cook themselves to keep them from getting at it.

Tord noticed me, humming a sort of 'good morning' as my arm brushed his leg while I reached into the fridge, grabbing the milk. I'm not used to physical contact. Even a hug is enough to make my heart stop. Just accidentally brushing my arm against Tord's leg... I swore that, for a second, I couldn't feel my own heartbeat. I lost contact with reality for a second, probably froze, looking like an idiot, but it was like I couldn't move. I wondered if I was real, if the people and things around me were real. When I got my head back from space, I grabbed the milk from the fridge and set it on the counter. "Morning," I said to Tord. Tord nodded. "You want some?" He asked, smirking. "Sharing bacon? From this Tord?" I asked. "It's more likely than I thought." I grabbed a piece faster than Tord could react, to his dismay, and I took a bite while I grabbed a bowl and spoon for me to make myself some cereal. "You suck." Tord said. I rolled my eyes, using this as the perfect time to make a gay joke. "Oh, you have no idea. I swallow, too." I laughed to myself at the innuendo. Tord squinted his eyes at me. Though I wasn't directly looking at him, I knew this by looking out of the corner of my eye. Not that he'd really notice. My eyes are black.

"You and your jokes." Tord laughed as I grabbed the cereal box from the pantry. I poured the cereal first into my bowl, then the milk, like a normal person, then took it to the table after putting the milk back, not really bothering with the cereal, because I'm lazy.

I watched Matt and Edd as I ate. Matt laughed at something funny on his phone and leaned forwards, displaying his phone screen to Edd, and they both laughed. I took another bite of cereal. Captain Crunch, or something, I wasn't paying attention. I started to stare at the table as I ate, listening to the conversations between my roommates, but not really paying any attention to them. I stared at the table and at the light shining from the windows and how the little particles of dust and whatever else in the air floated by and down and everywhere without a single care. It was so nice. I felt peaceful. I took another bite of my cereal.

You wouldn't believe how easy it is to hide a fire in your stomach.

Not the passionate kind that defended the people they loved, or showed itself in the bedroom by having hot, passionate sex, or whatever. Mine wasn't like that, because those kinds of fires, while mildly dangerous in the wrong kinds of heat, were harmless, for the most part. Well, compared to what mine could do, they were like candles. I choose to believe that everyone has one of these, just some people have bigger ones that are more powerful, or others have quieter ones that are sweet and warming, and others were kind of average for a while, until you find something that really sparks them up, sets a wildfire in their rib cage.

Mine isn't like that, though. I don't have one of those cool fires that makes you stand up for yourself, or feels like home whenever you light it. Mine's just angry. Not grumpy, or extra warm, it's just angry. Painfully angry. It gets bigger and smaller depending on the time of day, but most of the time, it's angry. It's angry and painful and hot and it gets so high that it burns my throat and I can't speak. My ribs are turning to dust from the years of heated abuse that this fire has put onto them, yet I can still feel them, holding strong against the rough drum of my hide.

This fire inside of my rib cage is so angry. Its insane heat inside of my muscle, so close to my heart, blistering the flesh and making it sting. Sometimes it gets so bad that it goes past burning my throat, and it comes out of my mouth. Most of the time, I'm breathing smoke. It comes from my stomach and my lungs and it chokes the people around me like poison in the air, but sometimes, I breathe fire and it does more than choke. The smoke churns in my chest and chokes at first, but then it burns and burns and burns every time I breathe, but I can't stop it. I can never stop it. It just blisters and burns and hurts the people I happen to be standing in the direction of.

It's difficult, having an ever-flooding heart that you don't know what to do with, and a deadly flame in your chest that will choke and blister and burn the faces off of whomever you happen to be near, whether it's their fault or not.

I wish I could stop it.

I wish I could have stopped it. All of it.

I take another bite of my cereal. By the time I'm finished, I have a layer of something coating the inside of my mouth that a wire toothbrush wouldn't be able to clean off, but I'm fine with that. I notice that Tord had sat next to Edd while I was spacing the fuck out, and looked at him for a split second, before getting up after seeing that my bowl was empty. I go to put it in the sink and head back to my room to put some proper clothes on. Not because we were going anywhere, but I needed an excuse to go back to my room and clean things once more.

Sometimes I don't know if I'm supposed to come out of my room or not. I don't know what I'm really supposed to do. Watch TV? Eat more? Talk? I'm not very good at talking. I'd just rather stay in my room to avoid being awkward, or burning people.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see more like this, check me out at these blogs: 
> 
> main: nihilized.tumblr.com  
> A/B/O: mega-omegaverse.tumblr.com


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